Adieu, Be Of Good Cheer
by LyingMonsters
Summary: Gilbert is the crown prince of Prussia. Roderich is a nobleman and a lieutenant. It's the late 1720's at the dawn of the Prussian Empire, and they have nothing but each other. Based off the story of Frederick and Hans.
1. Chapter 1

**Historical things means more research and less decisions, and since I should not be trusted with decisions, I suppose I must research.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert stared out the window as he took classes and everybody knew it.

It wasn't like he couldn't help it. He could pay attention when he swung a sword. He knew he could outspar anyone in this class in minutes. Arithmetic was tiring and useless. He ground his quill into the paper and doodled a man on a bench outside the window.

'May I sit here?'

Gilbert looked away from the man on the bench. The young man-perhaps a boy, with that face-was dressed finely, and an ascot fluffed out from his collar. The sight made him smile.

'Nobody else is.'

He pulled up a chair and sat. His eyes were a startling colour, dark blue, or purple. 'It's true, then,' he said. 'You have a clever tongue.'

'More than that.' Gilbert resisted the urge to stick out his tongue and then thought better of it. The man's brow wrinkled, and Gilbert finally looked away from his strange purple eyes to his paper, though his doodle no longer seemed interesting and he folded it over. 'Don't I know you? The lieutenant, aren't you.'

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. He looked pleased, but tried to hide it. Gilbert wanted to poke at him until he did, show a sharp and satisfied smile.

'I would say I know who you are, but that wouldn't be nearly so impressive, my prince,' he said.

'Not impressive. Necessary. You seem like someone I'd like to know,' Gilbert said. He thought of all the useless lists he'd been forced to memorize. 'Beilschmidt?' he teased. 'Edelstein?'

This time the pleasure at being acknowledged crept through his face, and he allowed himself a smile. 'Edelstein. It means gemstone.'

'I can see that,' Gilbert said, and he reddened underneath his ascot. 'What's your first name?'

'Pay attention,' the tutor called, and they snapped away from each other like children touching a hot iron, and gave each other secret looks as they bent over their maths.

 _Edelstein_ , Gilbert thought, hiding a smile. When he glanced to his right, he was there, his own smile half-hidden beneath his collar, and impulsively, Gilbert reached out to fold it down. He smiled at him, purple eyes bright, and Gilbert smiled back.

When the tutor called the end of class, Gilbert jumped up like a child, and he stood with him.

'Wait,' the tutor called. 'Prince Gilbert.'

'Yes?'

The tutor cast a glance at the man beside him. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. He opened his mouth, at a loss for answers, and disappeared out the door. The tutor turned back to Gilbert. 'We need to discuss your problem about looking out the window, sir.'

'I won't be looking out the window anymore,' Gilbert promised. Not when he could talk to Edelstein. The tutor opened his mouth to argue, but Gilbert was gone, tying his cloak haphazardly around his chest as he went.

Gilbert found him on the bench he'd been sketching, sorting through his papers.

'Hello,' Gilbert greeted, sitting down beside him. 'I'll apologize for the old man for getting interrupted. What's your name?'

'I…' Another small, satisfied smile. 'I'm Roderich Edelstein, my prince.'

'I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt. Just Gilbert.' Gilbert tried to put on an innocent face. 'Je pense que votre nom est joli, Roderich.'

'Je suis heureux de vous rencontrer aussi, Gilbert.' Roderich said. 'Your name is pretty as well.'

Gilbert could feel himself flushing red up to the collar. He felt like grabbing Roderich's hand and laughing so loud his sister would hear in his excitement.

'You know French!'

'My father insisted I learn it.' Roderich looked away and fiddled with his ascot. 'I don't think he ever thought I'd be speaking it to the prince.'

'I'm glad he did. And I'm glad you did. Speak to me, that is. Roderich.' Gilbert stuck out his hand. Roderich barely hesitated before taking it. His hands were callused in all the places Gilbert's weren't.

0o0o0o

Roderich went home thinking about the crown prince. His laugh and his strange teasing, the lines on his hands and of his smile. The breadth of his shoulders in the cloak. He sighed and set down his sword. Now was not a time to think of that. He should be practicing strategies or fencing or anything of the sort, and yet all he did was sit down at his desk and draw aimlessly, crossing out attempts at military positions and equations. The only line that stayed was Gilbert's words.

 _Je pense que votre nom est joli, Roderich_.

He examined the words and with a groan, scratched through them as well. He pushed back his chair, tossed his jacket on the bed, and strode outside with his sword.

In the grassy meadow behind his quarters, he held his sword at ready and then let himself parry and feint, imagining a horde of opponents in front of him. His father had never thought much of his prowess with music or art or language, but this, at least, was passable. His ability to envision his opponents as clearly as if they were real, his speed and focus. This, at least, raised him in the military ranks. This focused all the prickling, hot energy that Gilbert had sparked into smooth, perfect strokes. It was a rich and cold happiness, and he felt steady again as he slowed to a stop.

'They said you were talented.'

Roderich turned and barely caught himself trying to push back his rumpled hair.

'Hello, Gilbert.'

The prince looked at him with a curling smile, and Roderich was suddenly aware of his thin undershirt. 'You are. Talented, that is.'

'Thank you.' Roderich swallowed, wishing for water. 'People say you're a masterful swordsman as well.'

'Are you asking me to duel?' Gilbert asked. Roderich blanched, but Gilbert held up his hands. 'I'm teasing,' he assured him. His strange reddish eyes crinkled around the corners. Roderich coughed and sheathed his sword.

'Sorry, my pri-Gilbert.'

Gilbert smiled, eager and bright like a child. 'You do not know how good it is to hear you call me that. My name. I'm always just called by my title.' He stopped and his smile faded. 'I shouldn't be complaining.'

'You shouldn't,' Roderich said. Gilbert's eyes snapped up to his, and Roderich froze.

Gilbert came closer, almost hesitant, and touched his wrist. His skin was cool and soft.

'Would you want to be a prince, Roderich?'

'I-' Roderich swallowed. 'I'm sorry for offending you.'

'No, don't apologize. I want to know. If you had the choice to be a prince, would you take it?' His fingers curled around Roderich's wrist. 'Tell me not as lieutenant and prince but as...equals. Please. I won't be angry.'

'I would,' Roderich said. Gilbert smiled and ran a hand through his hair.

'We could switch lives. But you'd have to handle my father, and I wouldn't wish him on you.'

They stand close for a moment more and Roderich does not want to back away. Gilbert does not, either. Roderich speaks first.

'Why are you here, Gilbert?'

'I don't know. I was wandering and saw you. Forgive me.' Gilbert held up his hands, the palms startlingly white. 'Besides, if God really does plan everything out, then I must obviously have a reason.'

'Don't let the priests hear you say that,' Roderich said drily. Gilbert laughed suddenly.

'Oh, they'd get after me for more than blaspheming the name of the Father.' He gripped Roderich's hands. 'Kissing girls behind the blacksmith's, maybe.'

For some reason he can't explain, Roderich felt angry, and pulled his hands away.

'Would you like to come in?' he asked, trying to damp down the sudden anger. Gilbert looked at him strangely, but nodded.

It was a surreal thing to have the prince of Prussia sitting on his study desk, all strange angles and craned neck. If he was wearing a crown, it would be crooked. Looking at him, Roderich was suddenly seized by the terror that he knew nothing about Gilbert, nothing so much as his favourite colours or his thoughts. He knew what had been offered, and that was a strange young man with a clever tongue and a penchant for impunity and impulse.

'What are you looking at?' Gilbert asked. Roderich forced his eyes back to his scribbled-over maths, and folded over the crossed-through line about his name.

'You're the crown prince. You can't expect people not to stare.'

'Girls do that.' Gilbert swung his legs, and Roderich felt that strange anger again. 'I might be the crown prince, but I'd like to think we're...equals.'

'You can't just raise a lieutenant to the level of prince with your words, Gilbert,' Roderich said, fighting a smile.

'Well, what if it works the other way around?' Gilbert ran a hand through his perfect hair and rumpled it backwards. 'I wouldn't be opposed to it.' His eyes flicked up and caught Roderich, intent, fiery.

'I'd have thought you'd be at the castle. Training to be king,' Roderich said, trying to change the subject. Gilbert groaned and leaned back, slumping against the wall.

'I should be.'

'Are you supposed to be in the castle right now, Gilbert?' Roderich asked in panic. Gilbert sat up.

'I'm supposed to stay in the castle if I'm not in class or training for my safety, but I sneak out and run.' Gilbert looked guilty. 'You won't tell anyone?'

'Never,' Roderich swore. Gilbert smiled at him, not sharp nor excitable, but soft and warm.

'Thank you.'

Roderich offered him a smile back, and Gilbert jumped down from the desk.

'I promise you, you wouldn't want to be a prince,' he said, pulling Roderich up from his desk. 'It's a life of too much, endlessly, over and over.'

'Would you rather be a lieutenant?' Roderich asked. Gilbert took his hands and spun him around, cloak fluttering in their wake.

'I think I might. But we can't change how we were born, Roderich.' A strange, quick glance. 'You know that, right?'

'I do,' Roderich said, completely unsure. Gilbert's mouth twitched and he spun them in another circle until Roderich laughed.

'Roderich Edelstein,' Gilbert said, smiling broadly. 'If you were a prince and I were a lieutenant, I would swear loyalty to you.' He let go suddenly and dropped to a knee, and the noise of the summer afternoon went suddenly muffled in Roderich's ears.

'Get up,' he urged, looking towards the door. 'That's treasonous.'

Gilbert rose. 'I didn't think,' he admitted.

'You never seem to.'

'Is that a good thing?' Gilbert asked, eyes sparkling, and despite himself, despite the remnants of the terror, the word _treason_ , Roderich couldn't help but laugh again.

'I think it is.'

'You should be careful of that,' Gilbert warned teasingly. 'Too much of a good thing can turn people to idiocy.'

'You've got enough for the both of us,' Roderich said, and realized his mistake a second too late. He'd called the crown prince an idiot. 'Gilbert, I'm sorry-'

'I like you like that.' Gilbert smiled and Roderich stared and for a second, all that existed was them. 'It's okay, Roderich. You don't need to walk on glass around me. I'm not nearly as much of a hurricane as you think.'

But he was as wonderful and wild as one, Roderich stopped himself from saying, and he was enchanted.

 **0o0o0o**

 **I don't get to choose how everything happens, but Frederick and Hans read like a fairy tale.**

 ** _:: Reading late into the night until all is silent_**


	2. Chapter 2

**I should start writing earlier.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert threw his cloak on the chair and sprawled on his bed, pressing his palms to his face. He couldn't stop smiling, and he was _alight_ , sparking with lightning from somewhere deep inside. He couldn't get the lieutenant out of his mind.

'En garde,' he cried, grabbing his sword and pushing off the bed into a sloppy stance. 'May we duel?'

He imagined Roderich again in front of him, the strength to him as he handled his sword, the careful concentration, no step out of place. His breaths, harsh and loud, eyes calm. Gilbert bowed low to the air and swung his blade gently, retracing the steps he had seen. Thrust, step, parry, step.

Gilbert whirled in his imaginary dance for a moment more before slowing to a stop. He closed his eyes and envisioned Roderich's house, bright with air and light, and sunk to a knee.

'I would be your liege,' he whispered. In his imagination, Roderich took him by the shoulders and pulled him up, embraced him. His voice was close and gentle in Gilbert's ear, assuring him _and I would be yours_.

His eyes snapped open and his face flushed with strange heat. Gilbert slowly put away his sword. Roderich was right, such thoughts were treason against his father. His mouth twisted at the thought of the man. He was a warrior, a soldier, and expected Gilbert to be the same.

But he _wasn't_ the same, Gilbert was reminded, looking down at his pale hands. They'd said the king was cursed. Three sons, two dead in childhood and the only living one white as a ghost. If the king could have had another living son, he would be dead. But the king never did, and so Gilbert lived.

No wonder he'd had a bastard child, Gilbert thought. To have one son who wasnt a disappointment to his father with music and French and a strange and thorny love for the heart of Prussia, this city, must be a relief.

He collapsed back onto his bed and breathed out long into the blankets. Damn his mind. Damn the way it caught onto lovely music and made his fingers ache to replicate the melody, damn the way it pushed him to speak a soft and pretty language, damn the way it rooted deep into the twisted alleys of this city and held him fast. And particularly, Gilbert decided, damn the way it wouldn't let him forget Roderich.

A knock on the door. Gilbert groaned and shouted for the man to come in. At least it wasn't his father. He would have entered without asking.

'Your Highness.'

Gilbert managed to look up and his mouth spread into an astonished grin. 'Francis,' he breathed.

'Francis Bonnefoy, at your service. Again, it seems.' The man flicked his hair out of his face and smiled devilishly. 'You really shouldn't recognize me, Highness. I'm new here.'

'We never tell our fathers what we get up to.' Gilbert jumped off the bed and ran to him, embraced him tightly, heard Francis' familiar chuckle in his ear. 'You do not know how much I've thought of you.'

'You're a long way from Saxony, bird.' Francis pulled away and clasped his face, examining for any hint of a crown. 'Gilbert, in all our times watching plays you forgot to tell me you were the crown prince of Prussia.'

'Details. I'm still Gilbert, aren't I?' Gilbert laughed and pulled Francis close again, breathing in the comfortable scent of musk and heady wine and something light as roses.

'I met a boy in Saxony,' Francis said. 'A cultured boy, yes, however brash he was, affluent with the language of love, who loved plays.' His embrace was warm and Gilbert closed his eyes. His chest was filling up with warmth and he was _safe_. 'You've grown into a man.'

'And you haven't changed at all,' Gilbert teased. 'How did you get here? Into the castle?'

'Well, I started hearing tales of the son of the Soldier King. I was curious, and asked around, and it turned out the crown prince and my prideful friend were one and the same. And I may have charmed some of the guards.'

'You'll cause scandals,' Gilbert said fondly.

' _We_ will.' Francis took his hands, blue eyes sparkling. 'You didn't think I'd leave Antonio behind, did you?'

0o0o0o

It was a tucked-away inn, dark and loud. The floor seemed equally divided between the bar and the raised stage. On the stage, someone was standing, delivering lines, light on their feet and lighter in their voice, eyes green and half-closed with the roar of the gathered crowd.

'To be or not to be, _that_ is the question,' Antonio crooned. He looked out to the crowd, and his eyes caught the figure standing illuminated against the brightness of the door.

'Antonio,' Gilbert said, grinning. Antonio dropped the skull and ran, the crowd falling silent, his robes fluttering around them as he wrapped Gilbert in his arms.

'Someone says you're a prince,' he whispered. Gilbert nodded, throat thick, pressing him tighter to his chest.

Antonio finally backed away long enough to throw off his robes at a boy with curled hair.

'I'm not going to play Hamlet, Antonio!'

'Just for today, Lovi,' Antonio promised. He turned back to Gilbert, exhilaration radiating off every line of his body. 'By God, I've missed you, Gil.'

'And I've missed you too,' Gilbert said. He laughed and swiped at his eyes. 'It's dusty in here.'

'Of course.' Francis chuckled and took both of them by the arm. 'There's a bar around here.'

They found it bright and boastful with energy. Gilbert sat down and his friends sat on either side of him. For a long second they simply looked at each other, drinking in the shapes and colours they had gone without. The tilt to Francis' blue eyes, Antonio's bright smile, the way they leaned towards him.

'Gilbert,' Francis said simply. Antonio repeated it, and their joy became his joy, so blindingly bright for the hour.

When the hour wound closed, Gilbert was giddy with laughter and the energy of his best friends. They embraced once more.

'I'll see you again?' Gilbert asked.

'What else did we come for but you, Gilbert?' Francis asked. 'Now, you should go. It's getting late.'

The walk back to the castle was dark, but Gilbert didn't mind the cold. When he reached his sister's rooms, he climbed up and landed outside her door. The guards let him in.

'Hey, Lili,' he called. The girl smiled at him.

'Gilbert. It's rather late.'

'I found some friends.' Gilbert leaned against the wall. 'What do you know of Roderich Edelstein?'

'The lieutenant? He can speak French.' She frowned. 'I don't know much more than his name, and only because Father made us memorize all the nobility lists. He has good lineage, but not enough.' She looked up at him. 'Why?'

Gilbert shrugged in what he hoped was a careless manner. 'No reason.'

'You've been seen around with him.' Lili put down her needlework. 'Gilbert, you must be careful.'

'It's fine.' Gilbert tapped his foot impatiently. 'He's good with a blade, Lili. And we take classes together. Math and sciences.' Disbelieving green eyes flicked to his, and he turned away. 'That's all.'

'If you say so.'

'I do!' Gilbert shouted. The guards banged on the door, and he groaned. 'All is well, men.'

'Gilbert, our father-'

'Don't talk about him.' Gilbert's fingernails dug into the wood of the doorframe. 'He wants things from me. I give them. Isn't that how it works?'

Lili bent back over her needlepoint. 'Gilbert…'

'Sorry,' he said, shame suddenly flooding his body. Lili glanced up, green eyes soft.

'Gilbert, be careful.' She inclined her head, and Gilbert nodded back, feeling strangely as if they had an agreement. If he was careful, his father wouldn't find them. 'Goodnight.'

'Goodnight,' he said. She smiled.

0o0o0o

'Good to see you again,' Gilbert said from behind him. Roderich turned. The prince grinned, eyes bright.

'And you.' Roderich barely caught himself saying _Gilbert_. Perhaps he really could make men equal with his words. 'My prince,' he added hastily.

Gilbert cast a dismissive glance at the rest of the class. 'My lieutenant,' he responded quietly. 'Roderich.'

'Gilbert,' Roderich breathed, barely daring to. The way Gilbert looked at him made him shiver hot and made the risk worth it.

'To your seats, please,' the tutor called. They settled down beside each other.

Gilbert propped up his book and bent over, sketching, as the tutor lectured.

'Roderich,' he whispered almost shyly. 'Could I-'

'Eyes here, Edelstein,' the tutor interrupted, and Roderich snapped back to the front. The class murmured. He could see Gilbert stiffen, scribble through a line and begin again. He refused to let his embarrassment show, and began to take notes as well.

Three minutes later, when the tutor had turned away to berate someone else, a folded scrap of paper bounced onto his desk. He looked to his left. Gilbert was taking notes again, his secret smile flashing out as their eyes met.

He unfolded the note underneath the table. The first two lines were blotted out so dark he couldn't imagine what had been under them. The second line was cramped and slanted.

 _can't believe these idiots. you've got more talent with a sword than all of them combined_

 _I do hope you don't mean yourself included_. He wrote back, sent it skidding across the bench. Gilbert picked it up, glancing back at whoever might be looking, and unfolded it. His mouth twitched into a smile, and he scribbled and flicked it back.

 _no. i'm an awesome swordsman. sorry roderich._

They both ducked down as the tutor passed again, and Roderich turned the paper over to write.

 _Give me a signal if the tutor is coming over._

Gilbert met his eyes and his brow furrowed in concentration.

 _i'll tap my neck or something_

Gilbert was finishing his sketch. His notes filled the page.

 _What are you drawing?_

Gilbert frowned at the question, and Roderich's heart skipped a beat in fear. He wrote a response, scratched it through, then tried to write a longer paragraph. He stared at the blacked-out paper for a long time and fit a small message in the corner.

 _i'll show you later_

His head jerked up, and he tapped his neck. Roderich stuffed the note among his pages. The tutor leaned over them, and Roderich dutifully copied out a formula.

'You are falling behind,' he noted. Roderich nodded, mouth dry. He kept his eyes carefully on his page. Finally, after what seemed like a year, he moved, and Roderich let out a breath. Another paper rolled onto his page.

 _i'll apologize for the old man_

He smiled.

0o0o0o

When the class ended, Roderich took his time packing up. Gilbert pretended to ignore him, but as he passed, he bent down and whispered, 'The old pine tree. In the courtyard.'

'I'll meet you there in ten minutes,' he promised.

'I'll be waiting,' Gilbert responded.

He was waiting when Roderich arrived, lying flat on his back and squinting upwards.

'Staring at the sun will ruin your eyesight,' Roderich told him, sitting down. Gilbert sat up.

'Legend says anyone who's destined to be a hero looks into the sun when they're young. Something about suffering for greatness.' He snorted and leaned forward almost absentmindedly to brush a stray needle from Roderich's hair. 'Don't believe that. You can be a hero without hurting anyone. I would like to be a hero without having innocent men's blood on my hands.'

'What of guilty men's blood?'

'If we ever have a truly guilty man, I will fight for the country. It is the innocent soldiers who stand between the guilty man and me that I hurt for.' Gilbert looked away. 'Please. Can we talk of something else?'

'I'm sorry,' Roderich said. Gilbert smiled.

'No matter. I brought the sketch.'

'Show me.' Roderich leaned forward, and Gilbert tore the sketch out and passed it to him. In the corner, in his messy handwriting, was the French word for pretty. _Joli_.

Roderich unfolded a picture of a simplistic profile. He looked over the boxy glasses and the stray hair, a faithful portrait of him with a impressionistic touch.

'You drew me.'

'Yes.' Gilbert ducked his head. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'll forgive you if you allow me to keep it.' Roderich caught his eyes, and Gilbert started smiling again.

'You're not mad?'

'Gilbert, you're rather an artist. I'm not mad.' He folded the drawing carefully.

'My father doesn't like me drawing. Or any of the fine arts.' Gilbert reached out and brushed at the page where a pine needle had fallen. 'Language especially.'

'Je suis content de pour votre langue, au moins.'

Gilbert smiled at him, pleased. 'Qu'en est-il de ma musique?'

'Music?' Roderich stood suddenly and grasped his hands, pulling him up, close, until they spun slowly inches from each other. 'What music?'

'The flute,' Gilbert told him, eyes shining.

'The piano,' Roderich said in return, and Gilbert laughed loud and bright.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Even if just as an experiment to see how it affects my style.**

 ** _:: Ravens in flight, wings fully extended_**


	3. Chapter 3

**The devil is always in the details, but research so long ago only goes so far.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert shone pale in the near-darkness of night in his shuttered room. His eyes were nearly fevered with excitement. Roderich watched him and his careful, quick movements, and felt an answering surge like a thousand birds flapping their wings in his chest.

'I said my father hated my love for the fine arts.' Gilbert reached out and took his hand to pull him closer, and the birds turned to a hurricane. 'This is something he would have my head for.'

Gently, he withdrew a box from underneath his bed and slid off the cover. Underneath lay a flute, elegant and shining and beautiful like him.

'Gilbert,' he breathed. Gilbert lifted the instrument reverently, balancing it on his fingertips.

'You would not believe me if I told you how many nights I've spent alone, playing music, listening fearfully for my father's footsteps,' he said softly. Roderich touched Gilbert's hand where a faint scar showed out from his cuff.

'Play something,' he said. Gilbert looked at him with a flicker of something unnameable in his eyes and lifted his flute to his lips.

Gilbert transformed when he played music, into something almost otherworldly, some angel come down from heaven with a sword of ivory and song. It was a lovely, lilting melody, wistful and wild. Roderich drank him in, the length of his eyelashes and the sureness in his movements, and felt irrevocably bound to him, Gilbert, this prince.

When the final strain faded away, Gilbert lowered his flute carefully.

'Gilbert,' Roderich said again, for it was the only word that could quite describe him and his wildness. All the light in the world seemed to be focused on the prince before him. 'Where did you learn that piece? I've never heard it before.'

'I wrote it,' Gilbert said. 'Just recently. It doesn't have a real name, but I like to call it _Edelweiss_.'

'The flower,' Roderich said, grateful to at least understand that. 'Gilbert, you are an artist.'

'Roderich, you're kind.' Gilbert looked pleased, a flush was creeping up through his cheekbones and his mouth quirked. 'My father would loathe it if I became an artist.'

'He cannot hold you, Gilbert. You are your own.'

'Perhaps.' Gilbert placed the flute gently back in the box and slid it underneath his bed. 'Would you stand...no, I'm sorry. Ignore it.'

'What, Gilbert?'

'Would you stand guard for me?' Gilbert's face was bright and Roderich knew before looking that it reached down his chest. 'When I play.'

'Of course.' Roderich leaned forward and cupped his face. Gilbert closed his eyes. 'Whenever you need me.'

'My dear Roderich,' Gilbert murmured, so soft he almost doubted himself. Roderich's heart skipped a beat. The words rang in his mind. Gilbert opened his eyes. 'You said you played the piano.'

'I do.' Roderich looked away, down at his hands, pianist's hands, nimble and clever. Gilbert slid his fingers among Roderich's, scarred around the edges and curled with power, able to draw haunting songs from instruments.

'Please, show me.'

0o0o0o

The piano in the great hall sat there on it's carpet of velvet. Roderich walked carefully and sat down. The keys were different, less worn and aged. Tentatively, he pressed one, and the note rang out. Different than his piano, but lovely in its own way.

'I will play Nocturne,' he decided, moving the last sheet out of the way, something by a Marquis d'Ambreville. He let his fingers run over the keys, familiarizing himself with their shape and heft. Near silently, Gilbert settled beside him, and Roderich fought the urge to place his hands on the keys and ask for a dance, a duet.

The piano sang for him and Roderich fell into it, losing everything to the music but his prince, burning at his side. His fingers touched the keys like to a lover's skin, caressing, cajoling. The music poured out of him, swelling and dipping and soaring.

When the song was gone, Gilbert was quiet, silent, and Roderich turned to him expecting a shout that he'd done it wrong. Instead, Gilbert watched him with naked awe.

'Roderich.' He reached and brushed his hair from his face. 'You are…wonderful.'

'You as well,' Roderich said honestly. Gilbert shook his head incredulously.

'Roderich, you should be performing to crowds.'

'I have a duty to Prussia,' Roderich reminded him, and the words never tasted more bitter as he stared at the keys.

'And I have an oath to you,' Gilbert said. 'My dear Roderich.'

His heart thumped in his ears. Roderich looked at him, imagining how he would look in the sun with his flute. 'My dear Gilbert,' he whispered, not sure he meant to add the _dear_.

Gilbert smiled, and Roderich caught hold of his hands.

'Roderich, you're beautiful,' he said. 'The most beautiful person I've ever met.'

'You lie,' Roderich said, looking away. His heart was stuttering, and his vision was blurring. Gilbert huffed and grabbed his chin, looking at him again.

'I am not lying,' he whispered. Roderich locked eyes with him and saw the sincerity.

He pushed Gilbert away and ran.

0o0o0o

Gilbert paced his room end to end and pulled at his hair, cursed his own stupidity and his foolishness that he thought Roderich had his inclinations. Roderich has made his meaning quite clear when he'd pushed Gilbert away. He hasn't imagined the shock and horror in his strange purple eyes.

He wheeled and slammed his fist against the wall and reveled in the sting. Roderich with his ascot and eyes and his language and the music that had poured from his fingers.

Gilbert drew his sword and slashed sloppily, furiously, not caring about form nor function, hacking an enemy to pieces that had red eyes and white hair.

'Stupid!' he cried, feeling his eyes prickle. He swiped at his blurring vision, furious. Thrust, step, parry, step. 'Stupid, you idiot, how could you think-'

His blade cracked against the wall and Gilbert froze. He slowly lowered the blade and examined it. Barely a scratch.

As if he was holding a scorpion, Gilbert placed his sword back onto his desk. No need to give his father more reason to find fault in him.

The door rattled, and Francis called.

'Gilbert?'

Gilbert stood suddenly and lunged for the door, opening it and falling into Francis' arms.

'Francis,' he murmured. Francis embraced him, lips pressing into the top of his head.

'Gilbert? Are you okay?'

'No.' Gilbert's stomach twisted again. 'Last night I made a mistake.'

Francis was still for a moment. 'With Roderich?' he asked. Gilbert started.

'Why?'

'There are stories of you two.' Francis started hesitantly. Gilbert felt his throat close.

'Well, they're not true.'

Francis' grip tightened. 'Gilbert, don't tell me you-'

'Not now, please, Francis,' he begged. He was sore and drained and everything hurt him, reminded him of a lieutenant and a pianist. Francis kissed the top of his head again.

'Of course.'

He drew away finally.

'Why did you come?' Gilbert asked, trying to sound cheerful. Francis winced.

'Your father-the King wants to see you,' he warned, and Gilbert felt a giant, cold steel hand twist his stomach.

'Now?' he asked. Francis nodded.

'Go.' He looked around the room, with the haphazard cloaks and the scratched wall. 'I'll clean up.'

'But-'

'No.' Francis held up a hand. 'Don't worry.'

Slowly, Gilbert left.

0o0o0o

His father was a proud and imposing man with long blond hair and sharp blue eyes, both of which he had passed on to his bastard son and which Gilbert wondered if he'd have if he wasn't cursed.

'Prince Gilbert,' he greeted, and Gilbert bowed.

'Your Majesty Aldrich.' He rose from the bow. 'You wished to talk to me?'

'Lieutenant Roderich Edelstein did not show up for training,' he said simply. 'Where is he?'

'I wouldn't know,' Gilbert said honestly. His father narrowed his eyes.

'So the rumours are not true?'

'No. They are not,' Gilbert answered. His mouth was dry. He couldn't stop the bubble of fear that rose where the birds used to be. 'Lieutenant Roderich and I are nothing more than friends.'

Aldrich studied him like a bird of prey, blue eyes sharp and so much like an eagle's.

'Go find him and bring him back,' he commanded. Gilbert bowed his head in agreement, but revulsion was stirring in his stomach.

'What will be his punishment?' he asked, praying his shudder was not audible.

'We will see.' Aldrich nodded his dismissal, and Gilbert bowed again, heart aching.

0o0o0o

Roderich was sitting alone and he couldn't see. The alcohol made him strange, angry, magnifying his emotions, and Roderich slammed his fingers on the cheap old piano.

The sincerity and perhaps the hopefulness in Gilbert's eyes and he'd left it all, ran away. How idiotic could he be?

The strains of Nocturne again floated through the air, but they were angry, sharp, for someone too far away and now too unwilling to listen.

The song dwindled. Roderich stared at the cheap piano with disgust. Gilbert; sharp and wild and wonderful Gilbert who promised he wasn't a hurricane, offered himself and Roderich ran like a coward. He hit the keys again, toneless and mad, wrenching a painful sound from the old instrument.

He stalked away. He took paper and a pencil and spilled his thoughts.

Dear Gilbert, it started. Roderich crumpled the paper up and tried again.

My dear hero, he began again.

I'm sorry. If you wish to meet again, I will be under the pine tree.

He folded the paper once, twice, thrice, and left it on his desk. He wrote My Dearest Gilbert on the front and grabbed his sword and ran again, out of his house to the crown prince.

0o0o0o

Gilbert hated Roderich's house when it was empty and sad and quiet. It needed piano music drifting through the sunny windows and the sound of pages turning and Roderich. It needed him, Gilbert needed him.

He ruffled through sheaves of paper absentmindedly, distracted and annoyed. He couldn't relax, couldn't stop moving knowing what Roderich's punishment might be. He was scared and it was his fault.

Gilbert slammed down a folded about troop formation and the writing caught his eye.

My Dearest Gilbert, it read, and his heart fluttered. He unfolded the letter carefully. It read:

I'm sorry. If you wish to meet again, I will be under the pine tree.

Mon cher Gilbert, je pense que tu es beau.

Gilbert held the letter like it was gold and his heart swelled, cracked. He ran from the house with his men calling after him, laughing.

0o0o0o

Roderich stood underneath the heavy gaze of the pine tree, twisting his cuff in his fingers. Gilbert was disgusted, he knew, or he hadn't found the letter. Perhaps he was disgusted by the letter, by the...forwardness of it, by the word beautiful.

He was quiet when he approached, and it was a shiver and a whisper that told Roderich he was here, his Gilbert was here, and he whirled.

Gilbert stood with his letter in his hands, open and lonely and smiling, and Roderich breathed out for what felt like the first time since last night and smiled back.

'You're here.'

'I am,' Gilbert said.

They stood there silent and still for a long second and then Gilbert rushed to him, embracing him, body hard and supple.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I was too forward, I wasn't thinking.'

'There is nothing to forgive,' Roderich assured him, holding him tightly. Gilbert laughed and he leaned into Roderich, not holding on tightly, simply relying on him to keep standing. His body was heavy and flushed with heat from his run.

'I do think you're beautiful.' Gilbert met his eyes, sharp and kind. Roderich couldn't stop looking at him.

'I think you are beautiful as well, Gilbert.'

'I know.' Gilbert grinned. 'Write to me again, Roderich? Some day.'

Roderich agreed.

 **0o0o0o**

 **The spots facts don't fill, I add my liberties.**

 ** _:: Heavy exhaustion and the jolt of waking out of it_**


	4. Chapter 4

**History also has a talent for the romantic.**

 **0o0o0o**

'We don't need to go back.'

Roderich frowned. 'Pardon?'

Gilbert's face was flushed red and he wouldn't meet his eyes. 'I was supposed to find you and bring you back to the palace. You didn't appear for drills.' He absentmindedly fingered Roderich's sleeve, fingertips skimming his wrist. 'He will punish you. I don't want to go back.'

'Gilbert, it would be easier to go now. Every moment we spend here is another moment the king will grow more impatient.'

Gilbert's fingers suddenly twined in his and his eyes locked. 'No. Not go back later today. Never go back.' His voice shook. 'We could run away, Roderich.'

Roderich jerked back instinctively but squeezed the prince's hand in return. 'We cannot,' he admonished, praying the tremor in his voice couldn't be heard. The words coiled tight around his heart. 'That's treason.'

'To _hell_ with treason,' Gilbert said. 'Didn't you say my father cannot hold me? That I am my own, or was that just pretty words?'

Roderich recoiled. 'I meant them,' he said stiffly. 'It's you who cannot break free of your father's thrall.'

Gilbert's lips pulled back in a snarl, and Roderich held his gaze. He heard every beat of his heart in his ears, dimly wondered if he'd suffocate in this deafening terror of facing off against the prince.

'I can leave whenever I want,' Gilbert whispered murderously. 'I am the crown prince.'

'You are the single prince, Gilbert. Prussia will collapse without you.' Roderich clenched his fists. 'You really don't care about your duty, do you? All this talk about wanting to be a lieutenant like I; you don't appreciate the power you've been given.'

'Don't you dare,' Gilbert hissed. 'Don't you _dare_ think I'm not aware of what I'll have to do to be king. That's the point, Roderich. My father expects me to be something I'll never be, and you don't understand that.'

'I think I understand it perfectly well,' Roderich shouted. 'And you will be king, Gilbert, whether you want to be or not.'

Gilbert's breathing was coming quick and sharp, and his hands were twitching like he wanted to strike out. Roderich lifted his chin and braced himself for the blow.

It never came. Instead, Gilbert's fingers grazed his jaw, and when Roderich opened his eyes, the prince was mere inches away, pain rooted deep in his gaze.

'If I become king, perhaps then I will understand why my father is who he is,' he said quietly. Roderich reached up and caught his hand, smoothing over the chilled skin. His knuckles were rough. Gilbert's lips twisted in disgust, and he stepped away. 'You need to go.'

He pulled his hand from Roderich's hold and walked away without looking back. Roderich ran to catch up, but Gilbert pushed him aside and climbed on his horse. Roderich stepped in front of the horse, eyes stinging.

'Have you accepted that you have a duty to Prussia?' he asked. Gilbert coldly met his eyes.

'Get out of my path.'

'Have you?' Roderich pushed, voice faltering. Gilbert spurred his horse and turned, galloping back to the palace without an answer.

Roderich stumbled after him, throat so thick he couldn't breathe. His hands met the pine bark and he collapsed forward onto it, shuddering, and let the choked sound escape his throat, then the other, until he could taste the salt and night and pine in his ragged, gasping breaths, the pain clawing up his insides and burning his chest. What a difference there was between the Gilbert he thought he'd known, with sharp tongue and kind eyes and the foolish, crude prince he'd turned out to be.

0o0o0o

After the waiting and the gnawing in his stomach and the sun sliding far past the horizon, long after the taste of pine and salt had disappeared from his mouth, Roderich was admitted to the king.

Roderich knelt.

'Sir Roderich Edelstein, explain why you were not at drills. Your unit was left leaderless and chaos occurred.'

'No reason, my king.' Roderich kept his eyes fixed on the floor. 'I apologize.'

'You are saying you have no reason you abandoned your post?' the king asked, almost in surprise. Roderich bit his tongue hard enough to hurt.

'I am.'

'Roderich Edelstein is lying.' someone called. All eyes turned towards the speaker but Roderich's. He pushed back the welling aching in his stomach and focused on breathing. The steps of the prince came closer, to his father's side. A whisper, then the steps drew back.

'If what the prince says is true, you were assisting him with a class he had missed due to his own accord.' The king shifted, his long hair falling forward. 'Is this true?'

Roderich chanced a look up. Gilbert wasn't even looking at him. His face was impassive. Roderich fixed his eyes back to the ground. 'I cannot say he missed the class without instruction to do so, but I did inform him of the material he missed,' he said evenly. 'I wished no unwanted attention to come upon the prince for such knowledge being public.'

'You are gallant to do so.' The king rose, cloak rustling. 'Sir Roderich, you are free to go.'

Roderich looked up in shock. The king was already discussing something quietly with his advisor. Roderich stood and bowed. Almost unnoticed, Gilbert was leaving. Roderich followed him.

He caught up along the bench they'd first been introduced. Gilbert was standing there staring at the moon, almost waiting.

'Thank you.' Roderich coughed. 'For what you did.'

'I will pay the price for lying later.' Gilbert turned, eyes overbright. 'I apologize, Roderich.'

'I as well,' Roderich started, but Gilbert cut him off.

'No. You were right. I do have a duty to be king of Prussia.' He breathed out, sharp. 'Please forgive me.'

'I do.' Roderich didn't know what made him accept the apology so quickly, so readily. But he did, and found no regrets about doing so.

Gilbert, so small it was almost unnoticeable, smiled.

'Thank you.' He stepped towards him, and when Roderich did not push him away, he extended his hand.

Roderich took it and embraced him. Gilbert stiffened and then the tension flooded from him. 'We are both at fault,' Roderich assured him. Gilbert scoffed. His hands curled tight in Roderich's clothes, like he was trying to pull him closer.

'You forgive me?' he asked again, voice cracking. Roderich stroked a thumb over his messy hair.

'I do.'

Gilbert slumped against him, the fear leaving his body. 'Thank you,' he whispered.

'I will forgive you near anything.' Roderich waited and Gilbert took the bait.

'What will you not forgive me, then, Roderich?' Gilbert pulled back enough to see, eyes worried but sparkling.

'Forgetting me.'

Gilbert grinned, teeth white in the moonlight. 'You don't need to worry about that.'

They were close enough not to be cold in the cooling air, and Roderich averted his eyes and backed away. Gilbert let him.

'You said you would be punished for lying later.' Roderich changed the subject. 'How?'

Gilbert shrugged, the motion too jerky to be casual. 'My father will make me do drills.'

'He knows?' Roderich asked, panic spiking his blood. Gilbert gripped his hands tighter.

'He might.' He hesitated. 'He does. He doesn't believe my story.' Roderich couldn't think of anything to say. Gilbert laughed and reached out to brush his hair from his eyes. 'Don't worry, Roderich.'

'Does he often...punish your behaviour?' Roderich asked. Gilbert's hand settled against his jaw, fingertips tracing idle circles.

'It's how to make a soldier, he says.' Gilbert tucked his hair behind his ear. Roderich raised a hand to it.

'It's not the correct way. Is that why you speak ill of him?'

Gilbert slowly, slowly wound his fingers among Roderich's. 'There are many reasons.' Gilbert's face twisted. 'He is a good man, deep down, but he has his...ideals, and I do not fit them.'

Roderich could feel the desperate squeeze of his hand, the plead in his eyes. 'Is it because of your albinism?'

'That, yes.' Gilbert's mouth tipped up as he examined his pale skin. 'My love of the arts mostly. Others, too.'

'What?' Roderich asked, barely daring to. Gilbert absentmindedly traced circles on his palm.

'Here,' he said.

He reached for his sword, and Roderich did in turn, expecting a duel. Instead, Gilbert unbuckled his belt and refastened his sword on his left.

'Are you threatening me, Gilbert?' Roderich asked. Gilbert held up a hand.

'On the contrary. I use my left hand to spar.'

Roderich studied him and found only that disarming, piercing honesty. He wasn't joking.

'No honourable man would meet ready to draw his sword,' he said slowly, almost wondrously.

'I'm not always honourable.' Gilbert smiled. 'Nobody else knows I'm left-handed. Could I trust you?'

He is close, eyes wine-dark and deep as the sea. Roderich had only been there once, and it scared him and took his breath away.

'On the condition that when we are alone, you always wear your sword on your left hip.'

'Are you scared of me?' Gilbert asked. His voice was not teasing, but serious and not nearly as sharp. Almost sad.

Roderich should say he is not, but he is. Though _scared_ is not the right way to describe it, what he feels when Gilbert is a hurricane of everything, but fear is what consumed him when Gilbert shouted.

'Maybe,' he said softly.

Gilbert's eyes flickered. 'You shouldn't be.' His fingers drew to his neck. 'Do not be.'

'How?' Roderich pushed. Gilbert's eyes snapped back to his face.

'Brothers in arms do not fear each other,' he said. His fingers trembled and then stilled. He waited. Roderich felt a mad sort of smile turning up the corners of his face.

'Are you asking for my...sword, Gilbert?' The other word he wanted to use is too intimate, and he pushed it away.

'And what if I am?' Gilbert challenged.

'I would accept the offer,' Roderich said. His words hung in the air. Gilbert stared at him and threw back his head and laughed.

'And I accept yours.'

First him, kneeling and offering his sword, and the words Gilbert whispers, his hands that brush across the nape of his neck. Then Gilbert knelt before him, and Roderick knew his hands were trembling as he did the process, promised not to reveal his secret. When Gilbert stood, Roderich was reminded how tall he was.

'Thank you,' Gilbert said.

Roderich could feel the excitement of the night singing through his skin, and decided to speak. 'You asked if I would stand guard for you when you played the flute.'

Gilbert's eyes flashed, and his hands came up to hold Roderich's sides. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing.

'We need to go, Gilbert,' Roderich prompted. Something not quite longing flickered through Gilbert's eyes and he slowly let go, standing carefully.

'Truly?' he breathed. 'You'll stand guard for me?'

'I promised.'

0o0o0o

Roderich stood by the door, holding Gilbert's hand pistol. Gilbert pulled his flute from underneath the bed.

'It would be nice to be some place where I could play the flute freely.'

Roderich would answer, but the first notes of a song ring through the air, and the musician of him rejoices, and he fell silent.

Gilbert closed his eyes and settled against the bed. The first notes were tentative before blooming, but no matter how lovely the music may have been, Roderich was staring at Gilbert, at the way his fear dissolved in the face of his music.

He's the most beautiful person in the world, Roderich realized, sitting on the floor propped against his bed, playing Edelweiss. And he holds a gun, protecting him from those who want to hurt him. A surge of something fiery and strong rose in him, and Roderich could think of nothing but protecting his prince and the music and Gilbert, beautiful.

The music had barely died away when Roderich was pulling him from the floor, spinning him around.

'Gilbert, oh God, Gilbert,' he nearly shouted. 'You're beautiful.'

Gilbert laughed and caught him, lifting him into the air. For a second, they are all that matters, them and the music that Gilbert had made.

'Roderich. What are you doing?'

Roderich couldn't explain what he was sure of until the words spilled out of him. 'I am not scared of you.'

Gilbert looked at him, drinking in the details of his face. Roderich felt an old urge rise in him to lean forward to meet the prince and barely repressed it. Gilbert interrupted his thoughts.

'In case you'd forgotten, I do think you're beautiful as well.' Gilbert paused and brushed back his hair, cupping his face gently, tenderly. Roderich could feel his world slowing down, narrowing to the sensation of Gilbert's hands, the heat of his body, the gentle pressure of his grip. He could feel both their heartbeats. 'My dear Roderich,' he finished.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Tragic romance as it might be.**

 ** _:: Flocks of songbirds moving as some beautiful single creature_**


	5. Chapter 5

**Some stories of history seem almost idyllic.**

 **0o0o0o**

A second, a heartbeat, Roderich met strange red eyes and Gilbert's lips ghosted almost over his and then Gilbert froze, and his eyes fixed on something behind them, and Roderich ached and something horribly hot and sharp welled up in his chest. He turned.

Gilbert was staring at the church.

Roderich struggled to breathe for a second, everything twisted up thorny in his stomach and all he could define was _hurt_.

'I…' Gilbert shook his head slowly. 'I cannot.'

'Gilbert,' Roderich said. His eyes stung, and the world blurred. 'You...you like women. You could have said so.'

'I did say-I don't want them.' Gilbert tore his eyes away from the church. 'Roderich, I want you and nobody else.'

'Say so, then.' Roderich pulled away. Rage curled tight around his traitorous heart.

'Roderich, it's not right!'

'To hell with being right,' Roderich snarled. A hand at his eyes came away wet. 'Why? Is it because of me?'

'It is _not_ because of you-'

'Is it the association with those below your standing, then, Gilbert?'

Gilbert grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer again. 'Are you meaning you, Roderich?' he asked. Roderich flinched. Gilbert made a low sound of disgust. 'Roderich, you being a nobleman matters _nothing_ to me. Who told you that it did? My sister? My father?'

Roderich gripped the prince's jaw without knowing what he meant to do and slowly, slowly Gilbert turned until his lips were brushing Roderich's thumb.

'Tell me what you want. Clearly,' Roderich demanded. His voice trembled.

'If I-I go with you, promise me I will still be able to fulfill my duties as prince.' A beat, eyes locked, desperate. Roderich wanted him. 'Including making an heir.'

'You say 'making' an heir like it is a duty,' Roderich scoffed. Gilbert snarled, and his teeth showed.

'Promise me, Roderich. I have a _duty_ to Prussia.' He leaned closer, and Roderich shifted his grip to pull him in. He could have him. He could have Gilbert in all his hurricane wildness-if he lied.

He couldn't. He couldn't promise to let his prince go to a woman who he wouldn't write notes to, wouldn't speak French to underneath pine trees-if he let Gilbert have him he would never be able to let go.

'I cannot,' he whispered.

Agony flickered in ripples across Roderich's skin, down his throat, in his heart. _Mistake_. A shadow of that pain reflected in Gilbert's eyes, and he stepped back, and Roderich's hand fell heavy at his side, pulling him to his knees. Gilbert looked down at him.

'I would have been yours,' he said. And he knelt, and his lips brushed over Roderich's for half a heartbeat before he was running.

0o0o0o

Gilbert slammed the door to his room and threw the covers over his head and stuffed the tail of his cloak into his mouth and screamed, curled so tight around himself his muscles locked and screamed until he couldn't breathe and pain crashed through his head. He ripped the cloak from his aching mouth and pressed a hand to his chest, gasping for breath. His throat hurt like fire and his heart beat fast, too fast. His vision blurred, and the pillow against his cheek was cool, wet with tears. Gilbert lay there silently, mouth dry, eyes wet, chest working uselessly. He couldn't breathe.

The door slammed open again, and his little brother pulled him up.

'Gilbert,' Ludwig shouted, 'what-oh, my God. Listen to me, Gilbert, you have to breathe. Listen to me-breathe in slow and breathe out slow. _Listen_ to me.'

Gilbert's fingers locked around his wrist. Ludwig moved like a soldier, pushing him into position, methodical even when his hands shook. Gilbert gasped a final time and air flooded back into his lungs suddenly and he pitched forward and dry heaved, hands flattening against the bedsheets. When his mouth was dry again, he sat up carefully. The world still swayed.

'What were you doing awake?' he asked, not looking at Ludwig.

'I lead part of the guard.' He adjusted his sword. Gilbert felt the weight on his left sharply. Ludwig followed his gaze. 'Were you fighting someone?'

'No.' Gilbert's mouth tasted foul. He unbuckled the sword and refastened it on his right. Ludwig was still looking at him, but suddenly frowned.

'I'm sorry, my prince-'

A twisted knot dug tight around Gilbert's ribs. 'Don't call me that,' he snarled. Ludwig didn't react.

'What happened?'

'Nothing.' Gilbert felt the hint of tears choking his voice. 'Get out. I'm fine.'

'You are not.' For the first time, his blue eyes flared with anger. Gilbert stared at him and all he saw was Aldrich, with his commands of a _duty to Prussia_. The same duty, Gilbert supposed, that had led to the hidden coupling twenty years ago that had led to him, the officer with golden hair and blue eyes just like the king's.

'Get _out!_ ' he screamed. Ludwig stood carefully, anger cold in every movement, and left, the door shuddering behind him. Gilbert lay back down and closed his eyes. Faintly, he could hear his brother's voice, anger carefully concealed, directing his men back to their posts.

Gilbert pressed the sheets to his mouth. They muffled the sounds of crying.

0o0o0o

The prince had fought with a high-ranking soldier.

The news was all over the court. Roderich heard the words everywhere he turned. If the aristocracy was to be believed, the loose lips of a soldier under the man in question had revealed late last night. When he asked who the high-ranking soldier was, nobody seemed to know.

Roderich felt sick. He loathed it all, himself and the court and Gilbert. It would only be a matter of time until someone connected the rumours of his favour with the prince to this.

His mouth tasted foul. His sword swung at his side, heavy. He would not have the heart to spar today.

There was a different weight to the pen in his hands, and Roderich managed to scrawl something like the beginnings of a letter. He crossed it out. His mind wandered.

Joli. Pretty. Roderich looked down at the French word on his page and slowly, slowly penned the rest. It was easier to write when only Gilbert would read it, mouth the words to himself in his bedroom. At least, that is what he would have done before.

He stopped before signing the letter. Who else would write to Gilbert in French?

Whichever girl he would make his heir with, Roderich thought. Bile rose in his throat. The thought of Gilbert, of _his Gilbert_ courting a woman, smiling at her, crooning that she was _pretty_ in French-

-he never wanted it. Never.

Roderich signed the note. He folded it small, until it almost couldn't hold it's shape, and opened his door to find a servant. He found someone he knew instead.

'Hello,' Roderich said, stopping awkwardly. The boy in front of him was a familiar face, with golden eyes and auburn curls. His old pageboy.

'Hello, Roderich.' Feliciano smiled, but his eyes were strained and worried. 'Have you seen Ludwig?'

'Ludwig?' Roderich frowned. 'Oh, the officer. I can't say I have. Why?'

'Well, you heard about his fight with the prince, didn't you?'

Roderich held up a hand, head spinning. 'His fight with Gilbert?'

'Don't tell me you haven't heard.' Feliciano offered a halfhearted laugh. 'They fought last night. Ludwig was on guard in the palace, and it got really bad.'

'Oh.' Something was rising through him, something not quite happiness, but perhaps hope. 'Oh, Feliciano, _thank you_.'

Feliciano frowned. 'Roderich-'

'If you find Ludwig, give this to him. Tell him to take it to Gilbert.' Roderich pressed the note into Feliciano's hand. 'Or if you find the prince himself. Please. It's important.'

'I will.' Feliciano looked down at the note. 'Is this…'

'Is this what?'

'You've heard the rumours.' Feliciano looked suddenly awkward. 'They say you and the prince act like a master and mistress.'

Roderich nearly laughed at that. 'If only.'

0o0o0o

One of his brother's soldiers had given him the note. Gilbert wasn't sure if he wanted to open it. Even without unfolding it, there was something about it-the press of the handwriting, the preciseness of the creases-that shouted Roderich.

Gilbert didn't want to open it. Doing so would invite the havoc Roderich wreaked on him and the morals he could barely hold to back in, and he was not ready. But he couldn't leave it unopened. He couldn't leave anything of the aristocrat's untouched, sure there was more to it than was shown. Just like the first time, when Gilbert had wanted to poke at him until he smiled for real.

The memory was enough to make him pull at the folds and open the note. It was written in French. Of course it was.

 _I would like to talk to you. I have given you my sword, after all, and I would like to think that cannot be broken so easily. We may meet later today._

 _I would also assume you didn't lie when you called me pretty. I did not lie, either._

 _-Roderich_

He should go to Roderich's house. Perhaps he would find the lieutenant sparring with himself, sure and practiced in his movements. Perhaps they would talk, test how each other felt. Perhaps, perhaps he could take whatever they were slowly.

Or he could find himself at the old pine tree in the shaded courtyard, tucked away from prying eyes, where he'd made so many mistakes.

0o0o0o

He was waiting at the tree.

Roderich stood for a second looking at him, toying with the idea of leaving, when Gilbert turned and saw him.

'You said you wanted to talk,' he said.

'I do.' Roderich didn't mention the rest of the letter, and neither did Gilbert. Finally, slowly, Roderich stepped towards him.

'Aren't you going to lecture me about duty?' Gilbert asked, mouth twisted in a fragile grin. His facade trembled. His eyes shone.

'You took my words to heart, did you not.' Roderich refused to look at him.

'You don't understand. My father-'

'What has your father ever done to you?' Roderich didn't mean to meet his eyes. They both froze.

'More than you'd know.' Gilbert closed his eyes slowly. 'Maybe if we try again, Roderich, maybe we can make this better.' His voice was frantic.

Roderich couldn't think when Gilbert's voice cracked on his name. 'What are you asking?'

'I don't know.' Gilbert's eyes opened, desperate. 'I want you.'

His eyes, his chest, burning. 'You said.'

'It's true.' Gilbert sank to his knees. 'Roderich, _please_.'

'I cannot promise you anything,' Roderich said. 'I tell you that as an equal. As your brother in arms.'

'We are not that.' Gilbert's posture was supplicating, almost intimate with his hands in Roderich's. 'If we are anything, it is not that.'

'What are we, then?' Roderich hated the sharpness to his voice. 'If we are not brothers in arms, if I cannot be yours-' He cut himself off, horrified, disgusted with himself. Gilbert had made his preferences clear.

'I don't need to love the queen.' Gilbert's voice was hoarse. 'My God, Roderich. My heart follows a different path.'

'It is impossible.' Roderich could hear the plead in his own voice. Gilbert was who he wanted, nobody else.

'Why?' Gilbert wove his fingers in his, and Roderich looked down at him. His eyes reflected the semi-light. He was determined, and Roderich's resolve nearly broke. 'Tell me why.'

Roderich couldn't. He couldn't think of a reason. Gilbert slowly, slowly cupped the back of his head.

'Tell me why,' he repeated softly. 'Can we start as more than brothers in arms, at least?'

'Are you asking for my…' Roderich cleared his throat and tried to laugh. His heart was fast.

'Your allegiance. Your friendship, perhaps.' Gilbert's fingers tangled in the hair cropped short near his neck. 'I ask for you, my dear Roderich.'

'If you want me, I am yours,' Roderich told him. His prince smiled, and gently, gently, kissed him.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Some stories less so, but I prefer the almost fairy tales of history.**

 ** _:: Cold nights when you wake up when it is silent to watch the snow_**


	6. Chapter 6

**With these characters especially, it's not hard to turn them to history.**

 **0o0o0o**

A second, a heartbeat-he kissed gentle, with a promise of hurricane wildness. Gilbert drew away, and Roderich grasped for him, trying to pull him closer, for something, something more.

'Roderich.' Gilbert smiled, genuine, honest. Roderich tipped his head up, trying to remember breathing, remember anything.

'Gilbert.' The moonlight, falling over them both. Any hope at words-French or not-was stuck behind his pounding heart. 'My dearest Gilbert.' Gilbert said nothing. Roderich could see his pulse jumping at his throat as the prince leaned forward and eased off his glasses to trace his face.

His fingers were cold, almost shaky, and reverent. They slid under Roderich's eyes and across the bridge of his nose. His other hand pressed against Roderich's back, pulling him close.

'May I?' Gilbert asked. Roderich nodded. The prince smiled again, closed the distance. His skin was warm still in the night.

'You mean it?' Roderich asked, steadying himself after Gilbert had broken for breath. 'Asking for me?'

'For you; God, yes.' Gilbert slowly pressed Roderich back against the stone wall. 'Dearest Roderich, I want you like I have wanted no other.'

There is something about it, perhaps the pine or the night or Gilbert, with sharp tongue and sharper grin and kind eyes, with his promises whispered through kisses, perhaps just the feel and the danger of the crown prince and him pressed up behind an old castle wing at night, kissing. There is such a difference between the chaste, conflicted press of mouth on mouth after arguments and this. When Gilbert pulls away, his mouth is redder and his hair is disheveled and his eyes are reckless.

'My rooms?' he asked, hesitancy a step behind exhilaration. Roderich agreed.

0o0o0o

The door shuts soundlessly and there is barely a heartbeat before Gilbert's cloak is draped across the chair and his shirt is on the ground. He places Roderich's glasses beside his sword and his eyes flick up before he unbuttons Roderich's shirt. He doesn't touch lower, and Roderich didn't dare take the first step even when they were on Gilbert's bed, and the prince is kneeling over him, hot and cold and fast and everything. His skin fairly glows and he touches like a worshipper-too _chaste_ -and all Roderich can catch from his whispers between touch and hold and kiss are his name and _dearest_ and _joli_ and over and over, _je t'aime_ in a thousand sentences, _pour toi, je t'aime_ , _mon Dieu comment je t'aime_.

'Roderich,' Gilbert gasped, and his voice was a promise of itself, matched with his mouth and his skin and his heat. The world was frantic and slow and drifting and _nothing_ , Roderich thought, nothing mattered but them.

He didn't know how long it was until they slowed, stopped, Gilbert slumping atop him, seeming younger in sleep. Roderich made sure he was gone before pushing the prince off and rolling onto his side to take care of what Gilbert hadn't.

0o0o0o

It seemed like barely minutes until he was being shaken awake, a familiar hand pressed gently over his mouth.

'They're looking for you.' Gilbert withdrew his hand. Roderich was heavy with sleep, his mind sluggish. Gilbert was dressed already. He was strange somehow, different, but Roderich didn't know how.

'Why?'

'I...don't know.' Gilbert wouldn't meet his eyes. He looked towards the window, showing the palest of grey light, and something shadowed his face. 'Roderich, promise me something.'

'That depends what it is,' Roderich said. Gilbert nearly smiled.

'Promise me you'll stay safe.'

He promised. Gilbert nodded once, eyes glittering.

Once Roderich was dressed, Gilbert motioned him towards the door. Roderich recoiled.

'I'll get caught.'

'No, you won't.' Gilbert glanced towards the window again. 'My brother was on guard tonight. I've talked to him. He'll let you go.'

'Your brothers are-' Roderich cut himself off. The prince smiled bitterly.

'Dead?' His face twisted. 'I have one other. Ludwig is my father's son but not my mother's, if you get what I say.'

'Oh.' Roderich couldn't find anything comforting to say. He stupidly blurted out the first thing he could think. 'They say you fought.'

'We did.' Gilbert raised his eyes. 'Don't think he's a bad man, Roderich,' he said softly. 'He's the best little brother I could ask for. He's proud of his country, and he...he likes dogs.'

'Do you?' Roderich asked. Gilbert's eyes flicked down.

'No. I'm not.' He smiled faintly. Roderich twisted his cuffs. Gilbert took his hand and pulled him close for a second. His mouth was insistent. Roderich caught his breath when the prince let him go.

'Gilbert.' Roderich tried to sort through his feelings. There was _everything_ , of the night and the kiss and Gilbert. 'Je t'aime,' he said instead, because it was French and it was for Gilbert and it was true.

Gilbert smiled, and the tension-that was the strangeness, the tension, the worry-flooded from him, and there was just Gilbert and him in the grey light. 'Roderich. Je t'aime.'

0o0o0o

Roderich expected to be apprehended the moment he stepped through the door. The hallway was near empty save for the lone officer walking towards the far end.

'Ludwig?' Roderich tried. The man stopped. After a second, he turned. If Roderich looked closely, at the set to his eyes and the way he held himself, there was hints of the prince.

'You may go.' Ludwig looked away. 'The prince-Gilbert told me.'

'How much?'

Ludwig contemplated the question. 'Enough to know you should be careful,' he answered. His eyes were blue but the same shape as Gilbert's. He had the same way of looking at someone, that piercing, intense, studying way. 'Take care of...my brother. If you really do have such influence over him. Please.'

Roderich didn't have time to consider his words. 'I will,' he promised.

Ludwig looked away first. He continued his patrol. Roderich hurried down the hall.

The piano sat in the grand hall near the doors, and Roderich couldn't help but linger for a moment, to touch the keys, press them almost into sound. He ghosted over the melody of Nocturne. Then, almost cautiously, he thought of _Edelweiss_ , it's lovely, proud sound in Gilbert's hands, and moved to complement it in piano before he thought better. Nonetheless, he would tell Gilbert about it, ask for a rendition or five of his song and match the rise and fall.

He stepped away from the piano with an effort. It was harder when the ivory keys evoked his hands on white skin, on the bedsheets.

The court was sleeping in the early grey, and there was nothing to disturb but the dew on the grass as he made his way back home. Roderich slipped in the door and found his bed as he'd left it, with his sword hung neatly.

And it collapsed in on him. The letter, the night, the things they'd said and promised. Gilbert, oh God, Gilbert, his prince and his love and his _dearest_ , white hair and red eyes and heat in the twisted sheets. How quickly he'd breathed, later, thinking of the prince's voice pleading _pour toi, je t'aime_.

Roderich leaned against his door and slumped down.

'Gilbert,' he whispered, feeling some sound burst from his mouth even if he pressed his hand over it. Perhaps a laugh. Oh, Gilbert-he was everything. They were everything.

0o0o0o

They met again in front of the bench, a passing meeting when Gilbert turned around too fast and there was him, Roderich, looking at him with a sharp, satisfied smile.

'Hello, my prince.'

'My lieutenant.' They are standing too close, Gilbert knows, but he cannot force himself to care. He couldn't move away if he wanted to. There is a new electricity between them, one that belonged to whispered French and moonlight.

'Your Highness? The King would like to speak to you.'

Gilbert turned to see his sister, and relaxed. 'Hello, Lili.'

She nodded to Roderich, examining him through eyes that Gilbert knew saw far more than they let on. 'Hello, Lieutenant Edelstein. May I have a word with the prince?'

Roderich bowed and moved away. Before he was out of sight, he caught Gilbert's eye, nervous. Lili's shoulders slumped, and she picked at her gown.

'Don't do that,' Gilbert reminded her. She dropped the light skirt with a self-conscious chuckle, but her face twisted back into...fear, maybe. Gilbert didn't know.

'I told you to be careful, Gilbert,' she whispered. She held herself carefully. For any observer, it was nothing more than idle conversation.

'I have been careful.'

'No, you haven't.' Lili ducked her head, almost embarrassed at her forwardness. 'People are beginning to talk.'

'People have always talked.' Gilbert scowled. 'I'm not one of the court ladies. I don't have to obey their silly social rules. I'm Gilbert. I'm the prince.'

'You will become king, and you must know what your people think of you.'

'All this for my future. All this for being king.' Gilbert made a derisive sound. The panic that had built ever since Roderich had talked about heirs threatened to spill from his mouth. 'Lili, would you be a good queen?'

'The only way I could be would be if you were unable to rule,' she said uneasily. Gilbert turned, fast enough that she wouldn't see the warring emotions on his face.

'Would you?'

'I would be the best I could,' she answered. Gilbert let out a long breath.

'Good.'

'Gilbert-'

'I'm going to talk with the king,' he mumbled, and turned. Somewhere along this path was Roderich, and somewhere in the fumbling pieces an insane plan could form.

 _Treason_. Roderich's voice pulled at him. Gilbert didn't care.

0o0o0o

When he reached the palace, Aldrich was standing by a painting, admiring. Waiting for him.

'You wanted to speak?'

'Yes.' The king turned to look at him, blue eyes piercing. Just like Ludwig's, Gilbert thought with a pang, but his brother never looked at him like he was not as good as someone else.

'Enlighten me.'

'Are you in relations with Lieutenant Roderich Edelstein, Gilbert?'

 _The look in Roderich's eyes, the pain and fear and knowledge that courting a prince was courting danger. Gilbert didn't know what to tell him-he couldn't tell the truth, that they weren't safe no matter how careful. So he'd asked for a promise._

 _'Roderich, promise me something,' he'd whispered, wanting desperately. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted even now, exactly, something between the lieutenant before him and running with Roderich to someplace free._

 _'That depends what it is,' he'd responded. Gilbert wanted to tell him right then all the ideas he'd thought up in the dark but he didn't._

 _'Promise me you'll stay safe.'_

'No.'

Roderich was smart enough to deny him. Roderich would keep his promise. Gilbert felt the weight of that word settle on his tongue, bitter as ashes. It made his head hurt.

'Of course you don't.' His father turned away, back to the painting. Gilbert was dismissed.

0o0o0o

His brother caught him outside the steps, even if Gilbert flinched back from his blue eyes at first sight. For a second, he wondered how nobody had seen the similarities between the king and his brother yet.

'It's just you,' he blurted, and pushed his hair back, laughed. His sword hung heavy at his right. Ludwig looked at him strangely.

'What did the king say?'

'You can call him your father, too,' Gilbert said, too suddenly drained to care. Ludwig hushed him and pulled him into an overhang.

'Don't talk of it.'

It's not his bastard status he's ashamed of. He'd admit it if someone asked. He thinks of the prestige of the country first, always. He'd bleed for Prussia. He would make a better king.

'Gilbert.' Ludwig's voice breaks him out of his musings. 'What did the king say?'

'He asked if I loved Roderich.' Gilbert looked down at his hands, remembered them spread over pale chest and tangled in dark hair. It should be obvious, he thinks, so obvious that at a look it says _I am in love with the lieutenant_. It looks obvious to him.

'And you do?'

There are a thousand answers. _Yes, God yes, from now until my ashes are scattered._ Gilbert chooses the simplest. 'Yes.'

 **0o0o0o**

 **Historical fiction is always one of my favourites.**

 ** _:: Hearing English after listening to another language for a long time_**


	7. Chapter 7

**I wonder how other writers go about the act. Presumably more efficiently.**

 **0o0o0o**

He must be mad.

The plan-perhaps not even that, a wild, tenuous chance at best and a foolish fallacy at worst-has taken hold of him, and Gilbert wondered how long it had been creeping among his thoughts. How long had he joked about running away? Surely he hadn't truly entertained the notion of abandoning his life like that. Not until now, at least.

 _My dearest Roderich_ , he began for the third, fourth time on the blank, white paper. How to phrase something like this?

 _Roderich, I want to leave Prussia. I want to leave my father's will and his anger and his disappointment at me behind and I want you to come with me_.

Gilbert dropped his pen and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Would Roderich even accept such an invitation? How would he feel if their situations were switched, if Roderich pulled him aside and whispered that he was going to run, and if Gilbert would like to follow?

Well, that was easy, Gilbert thought, and couldn't help his half-smile. He'd accept in half a heartbeat. There was no use thinking _what if our situations were different_ when they weren't.

He scribbled out the address again and set it finally aside. He was staring absentmindedly out is window when the horrible thought occurred to him; that Roderich might not want to go. It wouldn't affect his choice to leave-if, Gilbert reminded himself, if he did leave-but would he spend his life waiting?

His head hurt. Life had been easier before Roderich, when he'd only had to worry about himself to shield from the king's wrath. And perhaps he had been planning this since he was sixteen and his heart beat differently ever since he'd pulled the boy with the rough, teasing voice and the red hair like flames, his father's page from faraway Scotland behind the blacksmith's and kissed him.

His father had sent him to his hunting lodge to 'repent', or so he'd said. And his flame-haired boy had been sent to the Dutch border.

Gilbert sometimes wondered if he was dead.

He shoved the paper away with a vengeance and ink spilled onto it. Gilbert watched it spread across the curled letters with an odd satisfaction. There. Nobody would read his name. Nobody would be able to hurt Roderich. He'd step in front of the sword, the gun, the rope for him.

Feeling some sour and hard vindictiveness in his thoughts, Gilbert strode out of his room. He needed a drink. He needed his friends.

0o0o0o

His head was spinning but it wasn't spinning enough, not enough to make him sick enough to forget anything had ever happened. Francis was talking, talking, and Antonio laughs periodically. Gilbert tries to speak and his head feels like it will split in two, and he downs the rest of his glass and grins with a vengeance, a bitter and twisted _how do you like me now_ that seeps up through his throat and into his mouth. The world staggers and falls onto its side, but he is wrapped up in them, his friends.

'They say the king's mad,' Francis slurred, tipping up a bottle that Gilbert thought was empty three drinks ago. Maybe Francis just hasn't noticed. Then his words sank in.

'Mad?' Antonio asked first. Francis sat up slowly, eyes glittering like they always do when he tells stories, and Gilbert forced his body into sitting up.

'You've heard the rumours?' he asked instead, lazily looking towards Gilbert.

Suddenly, all he could feel are the bruises he had gained at the hunting lodge, at the palace, for faults and misdemeanours Gilbert couldn't change if he tried. God, did he try.

Gilbert forced his face into a smile, a nod, and thanked some god for the small mercy that Francis couldn't read him as well when drunk. If either of them had been sober, the pain would have shown in his smile.

'It's because of his illness. Porpratic. Porpryecric.'

'Porphyritic,' Antonio interrupted. Francis pointed at him, finger wavering.

'That's the one. They say…' He hiccuped, and Gilbert could tell he was half a step from passing out. 'Say it makes him violent.'

'He is,' Gilbert said. The way Francis looked at him made him sure he wouldn't remember a word of it in the morning, and he hoped that he wouldn't, either.

'How do you know?' Antonio asked. There was still a flicker of alertness in his eyes; and Gilbert poured him another glass and pushed it into his hand. He felt a pang of guilt, but it didn't matter. Antonio drank and looked at him, blurry green eyes reflecting the lights of the bar. Somewhere in the back, the Italian Antonio called Lovi was singing. Gilbert leaned close to him and whispered.

'Because I'm not perfect, Antonio.'

Another faint recognition of his words. 'Gilbert,' Antonio began uncertainly. Gilbert looked left to where Francis was passed out, snoring.

'No, not now.' He refilled Antonio's glass and the Spaniard obediently drank. 'Go to sleep. Next time I'll tell you,' he promised, and watched Antonio's eyes flutter shut.

Gilbert waited until he, too, was slumped over the stained table. He gazed down at them, his best friends, softly smiling as they slept. Gold and blue and brown and green. He chuckled sadly and smoothed down their hair.

'I want to leave Prussia,' he told them. Francis breathed deeply, evenly, and Antonio mumbled something. 'I'm thinking of asking Roderich to come with me.'

Still, they slept. Gilbert laughed and made to stand, but Antonio's hand had curled around his. Gilbert stared at it. He wasn't willing to let go just yet.

'They sleep here most nights regardless if you've drunk them into a damn stupor or not,' Lovi told him, and Gilbert jumped, trying to focus on his face.

'You resemble someone I know,' he pointed out. 'Can't put a finger on it.'

'You know my brother, don't you. Prince Gilbert.' Lovi's mouth twitched towards a smile as he looked down at Antonio. 'Feliciano Vargas. In the army.'

'I do,' Gilbert slurred. He could barely focus anymore. The table was the most inviting thing in the world, and Gilbert wanted to collapse on it and sleep for years. ''E's my…' He barely caught himself before saying _brother's_. 'He's Ludwig's.'

'The blond bastard?' Lovino snorted. 'He better keep Feliciano safe. He's never known when to stop trying for better, my brother.'

'I know someone like that.' Gilbert didn't know if he referred to Ludwig or himself.

'We all do.' Lovi hesitantly reached out and touched Antonio's face. He turned into it, pressing his cheek against Lovi's hand with a soft murmur of ' _Lovino_.'

'Lovino?' Gilbert asked. Lovino didn't answer. He was still staring at Antonio. He suddenly pulled his hand away. His face was red.

'You can stay here tonight,' he muttered, and turned away. He was gone before Gilbert could say anything.

Francis had taken his other hand. Gilbert settled down onto the table. The wood was cool against his hot cheek.

'If I ran away, you could come with me,' he mumbled, not sure what he was saying before he fell asleep.

0o0o0o

He should have known something was wrong the moment he woke up in a place that was distinctly not his bedroom and Francis was shouting.

'What do you need with him?' he demanded again. Antonio was arguing with someone in armour, with a sword, and if Gilbert squinted through his hazy eyes he could see the insignia. The royal soldiers. His father's personal ones. The giants, as he liked to call them.

Francis had always been hotheaded at the wrong times, and he chose this moment to shout something that was unmistakably an insult even in French, and the man backhanded him across the face.

Gilbert was out of his seat before he could think and caught Francis, who struggled against him and called the guards more things in French that made Gilbert wince.

'He did nothing wrong!' he shouted, and all Gilbert could think was that he really didn't remember anything from last night. Francis turned to him, blond hair tangled and blue eyes furious, a bruise already swelling underneath his eye. 'You didn't do anything.'

'I was outside of the castle and unaccounted for,' Gilbert explained automatically. It was either that or Roderich. Francis made a derisive noise.

'What does the king think you are, sixteen? You're the crown prince of Prussia,' he said, jabbing Gilbert's chest to emphasize. Gilbert looked away as he shouted at the guards again, and envisioned himself explaining _the king is a soldier, Francis, and he expects me to be the same_ or _I don't want to be king, at least not like him_.

'Francis, I need to go,' he said quietly, and Francis turned accusingly to him. Antonio beat him to speaking.

'Are you just going to let the king walk over you like that?'

'What else can we do?' Gilbert said humourlessly, and he felt Francis go motionless in his arms. He didn't lunge for the guards when Gilbert cautiously released him. The look of disappointment in their eyes was more than he could stand.

He let himself be led back to the palace. He felt like a child again among the tall soldiers.

0o0o0o

Aldrich is pacing. Gilbert forced himself not to flinch every time he hears the click of his father's shoes against the floor. The sound is tied to the hunting lodge in his mind.

'Gilbert,' he said. Gilbert lifted his head. He felt like he was being controlled by a jerky puppeteer.

'Yes?'

Aldrich had long ago given up physical labour as punishment. After hours hunting, chopping wood, running laps, and endless, endless drills in the lodge failed to make an impact, he moved to isolation. Nights alone in his room, counting seconds, whispering prayers, listening, terrified for the clicking of shoes against stone as he played the flute.

'Would you like to explain yourself?'

'I was drinking. I got carried away.' Simple, plain. True.

'It's unbecoming of a soldier to do so.'

'Yes.'

'Drills.' It's the expected response, but Gilbert still ached. 'And a night without leaving your quarters.'

He bowed his head and stared at the ground. He is almost too scared to play his flute this time..

This is how Aldrich punishes him. Gilbert lives for admiration, for praise, needs it more than air to breathe, and if people whisper about him, he hurts. Gilbert knows the whispers- _punished again, not fit to be king, lover of the lieutenant_ -

It's then that his eyes lock onto Roderich's, purely accidental, a glance across a hall and something shadows Roderich's face before lifting to the impassive mask he wears. Fury.

Across the hall, across the whispering, staring masses, Roderich abruptly sits down at the piano bench, purple coat fluttering around him, and plays _Edelweiss_.

It took Gilbert's breath away. Nocturne was a masterpiece in his hands, but Gilbert's song, the one he poured onto paper, piecing together from voice and laugh, the song for him- _Edelweiss_ is the most beautiful thing Gilbert has ever heard.

The crowds fell silent slowly, turning to him, and Roderich played. Gilbert watched him from his knees, knowing every curve and angle of his face furrowed in concentration, and thought, _Roderich, you should be playing to crowds_.

Even Aldrich was watching as the music drew to a close. The king was silent when it ended. Gilbert wanted to run to his lieutenant and tell him he's beautiful, but he cannot.

Across the hall, Roderich met his eyes and gave him the smallest of smiles. Then he turned and walked out.

Gilbert got to his feet and followed, not caring if the king called after him.

0o0o0o

Roderich walked fast, and then as soon as he was out of sight broke into a run. Gilbert ran after him, calling his name, and Roderich swiped at his eyes with a hand and kept running.

He caught up to Roderich in the lee of one of the older wings of the castle, strangely familiar. After a second, Gilbert realized why. He'd kissed the boy with hair like fire here, behind the old blacksmith's. And here was Roderich, breathing hard, eyes closed.

'That was _Edelweiss_ ,' Gilbert said. Roderich nodded without opening his eyes, and Gilbert crossed to him to tip up his chin. 'Roderich, that was beautiful.'

'I think I got us both in trouble.' Roderich's mouth twitched to a smile. 'I've been waiting to show you what I had made of it. This was not how I imagined it.'

Instead of an answer, Gilbert kissed him, and Roderich stiffened before pressing into him almost desperately.

'My dearest Roderich,' Gilbert said, pushing his dark hair from his face. Now that Roderich is close in all his beauty, the beauty that had captured Gilbert since the first day, he can barely restrain himself from simply asking _if I run away, will you come with me?_

'Go on,' Roderich teased, and Gilbert realized again that he could do things like lean forwards and kiss him again, again, and pull away to ask when Roderich is still catching his breath.

'I'm going to be in my quarters tonight,' he began. 'And possibly after. Can you take my letter to Lili?'

'Of course.'

'And…' Gilbert looked away, and he is consumed by the terror that Roderich will say no. That he'll say _things_ , and Gilbert is suddenly sure that if Roderich told him to stay for him, he would.

'Gilbert.' Roderich kissed him slowly, gently, and Gilbert closed his eyes and nearly laughed. _Je t'aime, Roderich, my dear._

'Roderich, I am going to leave Prussia. Will you come with me?'

 **0o0o0o**

 **I apologize for my timing.**

 ** _:: The blue of faraway things_**


	8. Chapter 8

**There are so many pretty, useless details I want to add**

 **0o0o0o**

The words crashed around in his head for a horrible second before they sank in.

'Oh my God, Gilbert-' He'd stepped away before he could think, and Gilbert held him for a heartbeat before his hands fell to his sides. His heart was slamming against his ribs. 'Are you mad?'

'Absolutely.' He held out his ghostly pale hands, and the moonlight brought out thin scars and old burns invisible in any other place. He smiled faintly. 'Roderich. You really don't know what it is to be a prince, is it?'

He couldn't speak. Panic was edging in the edges of his vision. Something deep inside was cracking.

'After it all, you don't want to be king. Sometimes I fear, Roderich, that I have my father's bastard heart. Or that my brother does.' Gilbert pulled back his sleeves with frantic, shaking hands and showed off a long scar that stretched from his wrist halfway to his elbow.

Roderich tried to remember if he'd seen it during their night, but all he could recall with any clarity was a voice and red eyes and the dizzying sensation of being held.

'That's from the hunting lodge I was sent to, when he found out I was-'

Roderich spoke before he thought. It seemed too obvious to. 'Like me.'

'Yes.'

Roderich touched the angry mark and traced its length. A raw, sour sort of anger took hold of his stomach and twisted hard until he felt sick. Gilbert shook when he ran a finger along the deepest part.

'Your father did this?'

'They say the Soldier King is mad.' Gilbert laid his hand overtop of Roderich's. 'But not that mad. Not yet. This was from one of the dogs I couldn't control.'

'How long has he been…'

'Disciplining my actions?' Gilbert drew his hand off the scar carefully. 'Longer than you'd want to know.'

Roderich kissed him. He didn't know why, and sat back a bit breathless. Gilbert looked at him curiously.

'You looked lost,' Roderich said in place of explaining how he wanted to take away every bad thing that had hurt Gilbert.

'I am.'

Gilbert pulled his sleeve back up and fastened it. He began slowly, but determinedly.

'Roderich, if I lea- _when_ I leave, you cannot let him know about us.'

'What could happen to me? I could never be the king. I'm...harmless.'

The prince scoffed as if Roderich being harmless was preposterous, like he was some deadly weapon to pull down the bricks of the palace, or to steal the heart of the crown prince.

'I kissed his page once. A boy with red hair from Scotland.' Gilbert gave him a look that said pity and everything he didn't know about being a prince and grabs him, close enough to kiss. 'That boy was sent to the Dutch border. He's dead now.'

'I can't let you do this,' Roderich said, pushing down all the sharp, broken edges about other boys and running away. 'Let them kill me if they must. I will not see Prussia fallen.'

'Prussia.' Gilbert stood looking at him. Roderich couldn't make sense of his emotions. Fear, worry, anger, determination, sorrow. He leaned forward and kissed Roderich's forehead chastely. 'When...if I'm gone, take care of Ludwig for me.'

Roderich could barely speak through the thickness in his throat.

'Gilbert, you cannot leave.'

'Take this letter to Lili. And my dearest Roderich, when I go?' A trace of a smile, sad and worn. 'I'll say goodbye.'

There was nothing more to be said between them. Gilbert leaned back against the bricks of the blacksmith's, his fingers stretching out to seek any remnant of warmth from the kiln. He turned away and pressed his cheek to the roughness, and a tear tracked down his face. Roderich left, too numb for tears, still choking on his words and his foolish heart.

0o0o0o

The guards let him through to Lili with a glare and a whisper he didn't catch in its entirety, but enough of it- _prince_ and _look at him_ -made his stomach cold and hard.

'Lieutenant Edelstein,' Lili greeted. She nodded at the letter. 'Who is that from?'

'Gilbert. The prince,' Roderich corrected. Lili raised an eyebrow.

'Not Francis? He did say he would write again.'

'Who is Francis?' Roderich asked, momentarily distracted.

'Someone the prince met in Saxony. Apparently he arrived here with another friend to drink and write scandalous letters to princesses.' She sounded thoroughly amused. 'Apparently at the same time. His handwriting is atrocious, but his prose is something to be envied, even if it's mostly nonsense about running.'

'Running?' Roderich asked. Lili gave him a shrewd look.

'You are an observant man, Edelstein.'

She twirled her fan slowly in her left hand and opened it. Roderich hesitated and stepped closer, bending down so she could whisper.

'You know that he plans to leave Prussia. I do not know you, Edelstein, but you hold some strange thrall over the prince. I will ask but once. Did you poison his mind into this?'

'No.' He lowered his voice. 'I swear I did not,' he promised. 'As long as I am with that beloved prince, I shall prevent his executing his designs.' His voice stayed steady. Lili narrowed her eyes.

'You put your life on the line for his. Even if you oppose his plans. The court will find out the...rumours are true.'

Roderich closed his eyes and thought of Gilbert, of every secret smile and sharp grin, of his wild laugh and quiet words, and his heart beat out a rhythm. 'If I lose my head, it will be in a good cause,' he said, so softly he wasn't sure Lili could hear. 'But the prince will not forsake me.'

0o0o0o

They are too good at fighting. Gilbert scraped the stone too roughly over his sword to block out the intermittent tapping at his window. He hated it. He hated that Roderich-this man he loved not like the boy with flame red hair and worlds apart of any girl with coquettish smiles and too soft bodies-could change him and yet he loved that part of him that seeked to reforge Gilbert deep in his being. He'd chewed his lip bloody and bruised over the fact that Roderich is too dutiful to Prussia and that yes, he would undoubtedly be a better prince.

But it all comes down to that he hates fighting with Roderich over life and love and duty and yet every night it seems they're either kissing or shouting again.

The tapping continued persistently, and with a snarl Gilbert strode across the floor and pulled open the heavy curtains. The noonday sun blinded him for a second.

'I was about to try someplace else.' Roderich gazed up at him and dropped the pebble he was holding to toss at the window. Gilbert stared down at him, not sure whether to cry or laugh or shout.

'I'm going to drills,' he said flatly. Roderich offered a half smile.

'May I accompany you?'

He shouldn't have nodded, but he did, and jerked the curtains shut again. He collapsed on his bed, tracing idly over the engraving on his sword. A simple eagle.

From somewhere far below, the strains of Roderich's _Edelweiss_ floated through the palace. Gilbert managed to haul his sword up and run down the stairs.

Roderich didn't look at him until he'd finished the bridge, and when he stood up and walked he didn't speak. Gilbert didn't know whether to be relieved or not.

It was only at the gates to the training fields that Roderich finally spoke.

'Is there another way?'

Gilbert looked him in the eyes and knew what he asked, but some sour and rebellious spite swelled in his chest.

'To be disciplined?' he asked, jerking his thumb towards the soldiers in the fields. 'Well, the king could always hang me,' he said bluntly, and walked away.

Gilbert was barely fifteen steps before he felt guilty. But when he looked towards the gates, Roderich was already gone.

0o0o0o

It had been a pitiful attempt at trying, Roderich thought, kicking a stray pinecone from his path back to the palace and watching moodily as it skittered into the gutter.

'Lieutenant Edelstein?' a familiar voice asked. Roderich looked up at Ludwig, realizing again just how much he resembled the prince. If he stood with the sun to his back, his eyes almost looked red.

'The princess told me to come find you.' Even unsure, he held himself like a warrior, so different from the sprawling irreverence of Gilbert.

'Yes,' Roderich agreed, distracted. 'What does she need from me?'

'No. To talk to you. About Gilbert.'

They ended up in a dingy bar with singing and accents Roderich hadn't heard in years, French and Italian and Spanish mixed together in a shouting rendition of Macbeth. Ludwig grimaced at the noise but downed his beer.

'What does Lili-the princess want you to tell me?' he asked. Roderich frowned.

'Does Lili-Gilbert told me you were-I mean, I'm sorry,' he stammered, cursing his loose tongue. Ludwig smiled slightly, and Roderich stopped to stare at just how similar he looked to his brother when he did.

'I know Gilbert told you.' He examined his hand idly, like he was searching for just what made him different to the prince. 'Lili knows she has two brothers.'

'Gilbert is leaving Prussia.'

He's not sure what made him so willing to tell. Maybe it was just that Ludwig looked like Gilbert, or that Roderich trusted too easily.

'What did you say?' Ludwig hissed. Roderich was stunned silent. 'Roderich, answer me,' he threatened.

'He's running away.' He thought of explaining about dog tooth scars and the pain in red eyes when he'd said longer than you'd want to know.

'He cannot,' Ludwig whispered, sitting back and running a hand through his hair. It fell into his face and Roderich looked away. In the dim light, he could almost be his brother.

'I've been trying to-'

'Trying is not good enough.' Ludwig cast him a look of frustrated anger. 'He cannot abandon his nation just because he's too immature, if that's what it is.'

'It's not immaturity,' Roderich said before he could think. He didn't realize he'd stood up until he was looking down at a wary Ludwig. 'It's…'

Gilbert, offhandedly mentioning discipline to be a soldier with a twisted smile on his face. Gilbert with a scar.

'You don't understand,' he said, and the world swayed and spun. 'He's not a coward.'

'Roderich, sit down.'

'He's not.' Roderich looked down at his empty glass and wondered when he'd finished it. 'He's just Gilbert.'

'That's the thing, isn't it. He's just himself.' Ludwig took the glass from his hands and Roderich let himself be led out of the bar.

The air was getting colder as they walked. Roderich looked around, but the world seemed like in slow motion.

'What's going to happen to Gilbert?'

'It depends on what he does.' Ahead of him was Ludwig, shoulders hunched against the cold, and Roderich hurried to keep up, head still swaying.

'If he runs away.'

'When he runs away. He will.' Ludwig pushed another hand through his hair. 'Lili will rule as crown-to-be, I suppose.'

'Do you think he's been planning...running?' Roderich asked. Ludwig stopped to consider.

'No. Not for long. Not longer than since he met you.' He threw Roderich another look.

'I don't have influence over him,' Roderich protests, sick of saying so. Ludwig shook his head.

'You do. More than you realize. And that is why you need to convince him to stay.'

'I won't be able to,' Roderich protested. Ludwig looked at him gravely.

'Whether or not you can, you must. Promise me you will.'

Foolishly, Roderich did. Ludwig left him, and Roderich stumbled into the palace and found himself in a bed that smelled like pine and night.

 **0o0o0o**

 **For example, one about coffee. Pointless trivia.**

 ** _:: The humming of train cars on a long ride_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Checking historical timelines is very disorienting.**

 **0o0o0o**

Roderich woke up to the crown prince's room. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen. He eased out of the bed, feeling guilty and secretly breathless. He needed a drink of water.

The hallway was empty, and he started for home. He paused along the street to the training fields, and turned along it. Just to see, he reassured himself. Gilbert surely wasn't still drilling with his men.

Roderich was halfway right. Gilbert was alone in the cold dew of morning, exhaustion bending him over as he ran. Roderich ran out after him, shouting for him to stop.

'Gilbert!' he cried, grabbing hold of the prince's shoulders. Gilbert raised his eyes, heaving for breath, and his bare chest was too warm and too cold.

'Roderich,' he rasped.

'You didn't stay out here all night?' Roderich asked frantically. He tried to rub warmth back into Gilbert's chilled skin. Gilbert groaned and relaxed into him.

'No.' His mouth turned up slightly. 'You must think I'm mad. Running drills in the morning.'

'I do think you're mad, but not for that.' Roderich pulled off his coat and wrapped it around Gilbert's shoulders.

'What, then? For running away?' Gilbert slipped on the jacket. Roderich looked at him with his messy hair and the jacket that was too small on him and smiled.

'Yes.'

'You're staying.'

'Yes.' Roderich assured himself he was. Gilbert hummed and closed his eyes again, and Roderich let him lean close.

'I plan to leave in ten days,' he murmured, turning his head so the words wouldn't be seen. Roderich's stomach seized.

'Oh.'

'I will say goodbye.' Gently, he brushed over the mark at his mouth with a smile, and Roderich shivered. 'I wouldn't leave without it.'

'Has something happened to make you leave so soon?'

'No. I don't think so.' He stretched out and Roderich could see the soreness of his muscles in his grimace. 'I don't know how my decision might be swayed if I postponed it any further.'

'You sound like you've planned this.' Roderich ran a hand through Gilbert's hair, and the prince sighed into the touch.

'I haven't. But who knows? Roderich, my dear, whether I regret my treason in a year or ten, I will miss you from the moment I step outside this city.'

'Then don't go.' Roderich swallowed thickly. 'Gilbert.'

'Roderich.' Gilbert turned his head and pressed his lips against his for a heartbeat. 'I'm sorry.'

0o0o0o

Gilbert wanted nothing more than to go to his rooms and sleep away his aching muscles. After the drills, he'd slept in the theatre-bar with Antonio and Francis, and twisted pride pushed him back to the early morning field to run laps.

But with a craving almost more than sleep, he wanted music. He wanted his flute in his hands, he wanted piano music and the raw intimacy of shoulders brushing as Roderich sat with him on the piano bench. He paused for half a step, thinking of asking Roderich to stand guard, but thought of Roderich's _disappointment_ in his treason and walked faster. Not today. But later.

Artists with fool hearts, they were, Gilbert thought with a wry smile. He took the steps two at a time and flung open the door. The feeling of everything was cloaking his heart, and music made everything else disappear. What a sentimental musician he made.

Gilbert settled against the door and slid open the box. He carefully lifted his flute out, admiring the way it balanced on his fingertips, but too sharply aware of the lack of a lieutenant with his handgun and curled dark hair standing watch for him. He raised the flute to his lips regardless, closing his eyes to savour the feeling of every beautiful thing he could play just _waiting_ for him, and played through a sonata he'd written, a happy, soaring thing that took after the baby birds he found fluttering in the gardens. He'd taken one in when he was fifteen and named him Gilbird.

He was taken away.

The sonata faltered, and Gilbert rested his head against the cool door. This was why he couldn't stay, he thought to Roderich, as ridiculous as it sounded. Because of baby chicks with bright yellow feathers, because of endless drills and fears of music. He needed a different place.

He started the sonata again, but louder. He closed his eyes and remembered the way his little pet had nested in his hair and eaten from his hand. It had been so easy for someone to unlatch the cage and pretend it was accidental. And so he'd bought a puppy with gold fur to match Gilbird's feathers and given it to his brother, who named it Aster.

After the hunting lodge, Gilbert didn't much care for dogs anymore. Ludwig ended up with both of his old hunting dogs.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have gotten lost in thoughts of what happened, but in hindsight, things are always clearer. The door was shoved open and Gilbert was thrown forward, the only thought in his head that he should have asked Roderich to stand guard, that if his damn pride hadn't stopped him, he would still be playing to baby chicks and little brothers. He hadn't been careful. His head cracked against the floor and he lost his grip on the flute.

'The Soldier King hates having his son an artist,' he spat before he could catch his breath. He grabbed the flute that had rolled across the floor and pressed it to his chest, splayed a hand against the cold floor and tried to inhale.

'Your Majesty.'

He knew that voice, Gilbert thought with only a dull pang of irony. 'Hello, Officer Beilschmidt.'

Ludwig didn't meet his gaze. Gilbert let himself be led down to the throne room again.

But it was at the foot of the throne that he realized. Turning his flute over in his hands, he shook it gently and something inside of him cracked into panic, panic. No, no, no, his mind screamed. He barely heard the words because they didn't matter, because _his flute was broken_.

He surged to his feet and Aldrich raised an eyebrow.

'Give me your flute.'

Gilbert's limbs moved unwillingly and handed it over. It was too pale against his father's skin. He turned it over. He studied Gilbert's instrument for an agonizing second before he spoke.

'It cannot be fixed?'

 _So he knows_ , Gilbert thought almost hysterically. 'No,' he said.

Aldrich silently held it back out. Gilbert cradled his flute gently and staggered out of the room. He collapsed back against a hallway out of earshot and raised the mouthpiece to his lips with trembling hands, praying to every god who's book shunned him, _please, please. Anything for this_. He couldn't live without music.

Silence would have been better than the croak that came out, just recognizable as the beginning of _Edelweiss_. A noise clawed up through his throat and he sunk down against the wall, holding the useless instrument to his chest, and sobbed.

It was punishment enough.

0o0o0o

The letter on his desk was barely recognizable as Gilbert's. He wouldn't have known it was his if not for the French, the _joli_ scribbled on the front across a doodle of a bird, signed with what might have been his name.

The handwriting inside was a lopsided scrawl, barely a sentence.

 _Roderich, I leave for England tomorrow_.

Roderich dropped the parchment and ran.

0o0o0o

Gilbert was slumped against the wall behind the blacksmith's, eyes dull and bloodshot. Roderich knelt beside him, trying to catch his breath.

'Feliciano brought you my letter.'

'You can't leave.' The words spilled forward. 'I haven't said goodbye. I don't want you to leave me.'

Gilbert lifted his eyes. 'We have to make our own decisions,' he said plainly.

'But-' Roderich cut off, bitter regretful anger spreading over his tongue. 'Why? Why now? You said in ten _days_ -'

'I will give you anything you ask for before I go, if that's what you need.' Gilbert reached out to pull him closer, and the movement revealed what he'd been cradling against his chest, and Roderich realized suddenly.

'Your flute,' he whispered. He couldn't figure it what exactly was wrong with it-perhaps just the way Gilbert held it.

'It's broken.' Gilbert laughed and it sounded like a sob. 'I can't live without music.'

'I'll be your music,' Roderich promised rashly. 'Gilbert, please.'

'You already are my music. I leave for other reasons.' His eyes crinkled around the corners, and he very nearly smiled. 'Roderich, could I ask something of you before I go?'

'Anything.'

'Anything is a lot to promise,' Gilbert said. Roderich managed a smile.

'And yet I promise it anyways. Love is a strange thing, isn't it?'

The look in Gilbert's eyes when he said _love_ made the whole day worth a lifetime.

'Play for me,' Gilbert said. 'Nocturne.'

They walked to Roderich's house and his familiar piano. Gilbert raised the ruined instrument as Roderich sat down at the bench. He was surprised when Gilbert settled next to him, warm and solid.

'Go on.' His voice was surprisingly gentle. He touched his flute like he was going to play. As Roderich began, Gilbert moved closer, into the strange intimacy of music. The sunlight caught in their hair and spilled across the piano keys, and Gilbert murmured things in French to him. It was only painful, but Roderich forced himself to keep playing.

'I'm sorry for leaving,' he said between bars and French endearments.

There was nothing to say to that, really. Nothing could convince Gilbert. Roderich wondered if anything could convince him.

'I'm sorry for fighting with you,' Gilbert added, barely pausing m. 'I should say that to everyone, but mostly you.'

Joli, joli. Pretty. Gilbert crooned it about the music and about him. Roderich could barely see him out of the corner of his eye, and the scar showing out of his cuff kept drawing his eye.

He didn't know if he finished the song or if he simply couldn't stand it any longer, but he was turned around on the piano bench with too many memories of when Gilbert had been sprawled on his bed talking about being a prince. Gilbert waited.

'How many scars do you have?' His bravery-rashness-was thick but heady. 'The ones you haven't gotten from battle.'

The look on the prince's face would be nervousness if Gilbert knew what it was to be nervous. 'A few.'

'Show me,' Roderich commanded, and Gilbert unbuttoned his cloak and uniform and threw it aside.

There was the one on his arm from the dog, but they adorned the skin of his torso as well.

'They're not all from drills.' Gilbert seemed absorbed in looking down at them, and for the first time, Roderich could appreciate how he looked without distraction, and he was beautiful.

'How many are from...drills?'

'Four.' He reached out and took Roderich's hand. He drew it to his arm, then his shoulder. 'You know this one, and this is when he first found my flute. I wasn't quick enough in the field.' To his ribcage. 'When I snuck away in the night to visit my brother. I wasn't prepared in combat.' And to his chest, which was unmarked. Roderich could feel his quick heartbeat and the warmth of his skin and Gilbert's smile.

'Which one is this?' he asked.

'My heart.' He didn't explain more. Roderich spread his fingers and Gilbert sucked in a breath. 'Be careful with me. I'm not healed completely.'

'I will.'

The world seemed to be slowly tipping. Roderich took his hand and pulled him upwards. He didn't like seeing Gilbert so melancholy, so devoid of wildness. Stretched to his full height and this close, he was just an inch taller.  
'Do the drills have any effect anymore?'

'Not if I think of you,' Gilbert said. His eyes softened, and he reached forward, pushing Roderich's hair from his face. 'You give me the bravery when I think I cannot do anything more.' His eyes caught the light, and Roderich offered his hand on impulse, for it only seemed right.

'May I have this dance?'

Gilbert took his offered hand with his crooked smile and they turned, around and around, until the only solid thing in Roderich's world was Gilbert, and the exaltation and the colour of red eyes and pale skin blurred together. He laughed in the wonderfulness of it because together they moved like the perfect ideal of a dance, like they were born to.  
'If you would give me anything before you leave, I want to marry you,' he said, and Gilbert's laughter in his ears disappeared.

Roderich heard his words too late and cold flooded his body as they wound to a stop. Gilbert stared at him in-horror? Disgust? He had judged him wrong, Roderich knew now, he was still too presumptuous, it has barely been hours since the flute was broken.

'It would be impossible,' Gilbert said quietly. The grip on his hands tightened and Roderich was pulled closer until their chests almost touched. Gilbert's eyes were hurt and shadowed. 'I am not allowed.'

'But if you were,' Roderich said. He gripped Gilbert's shoulders, wanted to shake him and demand to know if he wanted the same, no matter how impossible.

'It's impossible!' Gilbert shouted, and the birds in the trees outside fell silent.

They did not look at each other. Roderich looked at Gilbert's hand in his. Gilbert looked at the ground.  
'Roderich,' Gilbert said. Roderich dragged his gaze to Gilbert's face. His eyes were pained.  
'My dearest Roderich, in a world where I am not a prince-in a world where I can love you without fear…'

Gilbert leaned forward, gently. Roderich lost his breath and his thoughts and all but the sound of his heart in his ears when they kissed. He swore he could hear Gilbert's heartbeats as well. There was nothing, nothing that mattered in the world but the man in front of him.  
'I would marry you,' Gilbert said.

Roderich's heart was erratic behind his ribs.

'But you can't.'

Gilbert inclined his head, eyes gleaming like he wanted something. Roderich could still taste him on his lips. 'Not in this world.'

'When you leave, you'll find another.' Roderich spoke through the sour anger. 'A girl. A wife. Another lieutenant.'

Gilbert's mouth fell open. Roderich pressed his lips together. 'Roderich, I-'

'You will!'

'For God's sake, Roderich! That isn't what I meant!' Gilbert pulled him closer and kissed him again. 'You really are an idiot sometimes.'

'What did you mean?' Roderich demanded, tasting salt and pine.

'You've ruined me, Roderich. I cannot love another after you.'

 **0o0o0o**

 **Points to anyone who has found the flaw in dates here.**

 ** _:: Books with thick paper covers_**


	10. Chapter 10

**I wonder what an older story wouldn't take after in modern day.**

 **0o0o0o**

The simple idea that someone like Gilbert, princely and wild, could love someone like _him_ still staggered Roderich sometimes and set his heart racing.

'Truly?' he asked.

'Always.' Gilbert ran a finger over his flute. The implications hung in the air.

Roderich wanted to leave with him. He wanted to leave without consequences for some faraway place where their ranks didn't matter, but every time he thought of it, he thought more of the uncertainty of what they would find.

Gilbert was suited to running away. He was rough and sharp and could carve his way into another world and hold himself fast. Roderich was too scared to do that.

'You'll be alright?' Roderich asked instead of saying something he'd regret. He could feel Gilbert slumping beside him in frustration.

'I'll be fine.' He leaned down to put his jacket back on. 'I want Ludwig to come with me,' he said conversationally.

'But he's the heir.'

'No, he's Aldrich's bastard son. Lili is the heir, I suppose.' Gilbert fiddled with the decoration. 'Do you think he'll agree?'

'I don't know,' Roderich said honestly. 'Tell me what he says.'

'Because you two are alike, you know, in your loyalty.' Gilbert leaned back against the wall to look at him. Roderich was at a loss for words in the face of his brazenness-but wasn't he always?

'Are you asking if I'll go with you?'

'No. Not directly.'

'Good.' Gilbert frowned at him, and Roderich laughed self-consciously. 'I promised your sister something.'

'The rumours are making the rounds, are they?' Gilbert asked wryly. 'Or did she catch on from my questions? She's a clever woman, my sister, I'm proud.'

'No, she got a letter. From a Francis?' Roderich tried to remember if he recognized the name, but Gilbert's hands had clenched into fists.

'Francis?' he asked conversationally. Roderich frowned at him.

'Gilbert, telling people could result in scandal.' He stopped. 'But running away is quite a scandal, too. And you won't even be there to enjoy it,' he teased.

'I do hate missing out on the political intrigue of how badly I would rule this filthy, gorgeous piece of land.' Gilbert returned his smile.

'There'll be rumours,' Roderich told him suddenly. 'That I helped you run away, no matter what we do.'

'And whether they are true or not,' Gilbert finished, and his grin broadened. 'Nothing to do about that. Write to me about it.'

'Of course.'

Of all their teasing promises, Roderich vowed to keep that one. It was the least he could do to keep Gilbert with him.

'How have I gotten into this mad adventure with you?' he asked fondly. Gilbert hummed and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

'If we knew exactly how we happened, you'd have probably made better decisions, with men less inclined to make choices such as this.' He grinned and buttoned up his cloak again. 'Rappelles toi. Écris moi, s'il vous plaît.'

Roderich smiled. That, at least, he could promise. 'Of course. Always.'

'If nothing else, I'm glad you know French. Charlemagne said that to have another language is to possess a second soul, did he not? And it's good to find someone else with the same...inclinations.' Gilbert glanced pointedly at his lips, swirled his cloak in a circle and at Roderich's laugh, waved and left.

0o0o0o

Gilbert found himself in a smoky theatre of a bar again. It was too hard to make out faces in the dim light, but he felt a pair of hands grab him by the back and pull him into a chair.

'Come back, have you?' Francis offered him a drink. Gilbert accepted.

'How long have you been here? It's barely past noon.'

'Twenty minutes,' Antonio said. Francis waved down a passing girl.

'When did we get here?'

'Half an hour ago,' she said, and hurried off again. Francis let her go.

'You aren't going to chase her?' Antonio teased. Francis sighed dreamily and leaned into the table.

'No, I have my sights set on someone else.'

'Francis, are you tying yourself down?' Gilbert asked, taking a sip of his drink. He'd forgotten how good it was just to be with his friends, free of responsibility and worry.

'Ah, my princely friend, you may not like the answer,' Francis said, winking over the rim of his glass. Gilbert poured himself another.

'Try me.'

'Lili, your sister,' Francis stage-whispered, an incongruous blush colouring his cheeks. Gilbert burst out laughing.

Francis made a face at him.

'What's wrong with that?'

'She's royalty.' Gilbert felt silly saying that. 'Francis, she's having a marriage to a prince.'

'Which one?' Francis asked.

'I wouldn't tell you if I knew. I don't want to see that one of my best friends is in prison because he tried to duel a prince.'

'Didn't Roderich duel you?' Antonio asked, and Gilbert choked on his next sip.

'Where'd you hear that?' he demanded. Antonio had the grace to look slightly abashed.

'You really can't escape hearing the rumours about you two, Gilbert.'

'I didn't- _duel_ him,' Gilbert muttered into his drink, too bleary to contemplate the meaning of the rest of Antonio's sentence. 'I complimented his swordsmanship.'

'I'm sure you did,' Francis interrupted, and Gilbert flushed red all the way down to his collar.

'Well, what about you telling Lili about my plans to leave?'

Both his friends went suddenly still, and Gilbert took a mouthful of whatever was in his cup and felt the burn slide down his throat.

'I thought it would be best if she knew,' Francis said quietly. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be.' Gilbert nudged him. 'I thought you were too drunk to remember what I said.'

'He was. I wasn't.' Antonio flashed a subdued smile. 'I told Francis you said you were leaving Prussia and that we could come if we wanted.'

'Are you?' Gilbert asked. Antonio and Francis exchanged a look and shook their heads.

'Not now. Antonio has his eye on the playwright with his brother in the army,' Francis told him, and even through his tangled emotions, Gilbert smiled.

'We'll help you get out, though,' Antonio said firmly. 'We owe you that much.'

'You don't even know why I'm leaving,' Gilbert told them, feeling like laughing.

'Tell, then.' Francis poured him another drink. Gilbert knocked it back in one go and the burn made tears spring to his eyes. It felt good.

'The Soldier King is mad and I need music,' he confessed.

'The collapse of a kingdom for music. No wonder you love the musician soldier. You're both madmen.' Antonio stood up, swaying slightly, and clapped him on the shoulder. 'I do need to get out of here,' he admitted.

'Lovino will take care of you,' Gilbert assured him. Lovino was weaving his way through the tables, looking thoroughly irritated. Antonio waved to him, slumping down on the table.

'Come on, bird.' Francis hauled him up.

'I'm fine.'

'You aren't.'

Gilbert watched Antonio offer Lovino a drunken smile and a whispered word and let himself be propped up.

'Where are we going?' he asked.

'I should bring you to the palace.' They stumbled out into the hot noonday sunshine, and Gilbert groaned.

'Francis, I don't want to go back.'

'You always said that.' Francis looked around for eavesdroppers and pulled him into an alley. 'Gilbert, why are you really leaving?'

A laugh burst from his mouth. Maybe he was drunk. 'Because I don't want to be king.'

Francis was quiet as he contemplated that.

'People would kill for your chance,' he said finally.

'Call me a spoiled child later. I'm not the right fit to be king. I'm cursed and my father knows so.' He thrust out his hands and watched them bright in the sunlight. Everything hurt his eyes. 'I'm tired, Francis.'

'I know, bird.' Francis breathed out slow and pulled him close. Gilbert closed his eyes and let Francis stroke his hair. 'I know.'

'I'm sorry.'

'You have your reasons. And if what they say about you is true, they're more than enough.' Francis tugged at his sleeve where his dog-tooth scar showed. He sucked in a breath. 'You really aren't just the boy who loved French and plays and saw Saxony as his playground.'

'I'm sorry,' Gilbert repeated, feeling his throat close.

'No. Don't be. The sorry one here is me. Here I am, helping the crown prince of Prussia escape. My name will be in the history books.' Francis sighed. 'Is Roderich going with you?'

'No.' The word tasted bitter and bad.

0o0o0o

Lili found him with another letter. A French word was written in the corner, the only mark of who it could have come from. Cher.

 _Dearest Gilbert,_

 _You said you would come say goodbye. I'll wait for you._

He was leaving. He was leaving Roderich, the most wonderful, confusing, beautiful person in his life behind. Gilbert choked on his breath and stuffed the letter in his pocket. It was too much. What if he died without seeing Roderich again? What if Roderich was punished?

No, no, no, he repeated to himself. Roderich would be okay. He would be okay apart from him, even if it took him months to stop longing. He hadn't lied when he'd talked about missing him from the minute he left the city.

Gilbert pressed his face into his hands and begged himself to calm down. One thing at a time. Preparations kept his mind off loss.

Gilbert pulled clothes from his drawers and piled them on his bed. The old cloak he wore to Saxony, his red suit jacket that matched his eyes, a gift from his brother, but mostly arbitrary clothes. Warm and expensive. He wouldn't freeze to death, and in the end, rich cloth burned just as well.

His flute, carefully lifted out of its box. The handkerchief he'd used as Gilbird's nest. His sword. He hesitated over the last before putting it back. He wasn't Prince Gilbert wherever he was going. He was just a runaway with ideas and a broken flute.

Gilbert dropped the last clothes on the pile and realized that was really all he was without his title, without the promise of a crown. A cursed prince who was unsuited to being king, and a runaway without a plan.

He took up his flute again and held it to his mouth and imagined that it and him were sixteen and untried and brave again. He sat there, lost in ideas and lies and insane plans until he scrambled for his map and began to draw a copy of Europe on the back of Roderich's letter.

 _Dearest Roderich, I'm so sorry._

From Mannheim to Küstrin to Leipzig, to England. Gilbert scribbled a circle around that faraway island that meant freedom with a heady victory.

'I'm leaving Prussia,' he whispered to himself, not knowing whether he was smiling or grimacing. He folded his clothes under his bed and stuffed the letter into his pocket and ran. He needed to talk to his little brother.

0o0o0o

He was in his house writing when Gilbert threw open the door. He folded the letter over hastily and frowned.

'Gilbert?'

'I'm leaving Prussia,' he said. The words felt good. They felt like power and freedom.

Ludwig stared at him like he was mad, which Gilbert supposed he was. He leaned against the frame of the open door, feeling lightheaded, and laughed.

'Gilbert,' Ludwig began.

'Do you want to come?' Gilbert pushed himself off the door and the world spun. He grabbed the desk to steady himself. 'Tomorrow.'

'Gilbert, you can't just leave! You're the crown prince!'

'I've been over that with others,' he soothed. Oh God, the alcohol was catching up with him. He tried to blink the black spots from his vision. They crowded in. 'Do you want to leave with me?'

'You can't leave.'

'I'm going whether you like it or not,' Gilbert said. 'You can't stop me.'

'I can tell our father.'

His heart stopped. Gilbert locked eyes with his brother and felt a pang of real fear. He hadn't felt that in ages.

'You wouldn't.'

'I can and will.' Ludwig put down his pen. His hands were shaking. 'Please don't do this, Gilbert.'

'Don't make me stay here. You don't want to, either. I know you don't. Please.'

'Gilbert.'

'I raised you, not our father.' He pulled out his scribbled map and ran a finger across the path. 'This is freedom, little brother. This is my future with or without you or anyone else.'

Ludwig met his eyes again, calm, steady, and Gilbert did not look away.

'Not like this,' he said. Gilbert opened his mouth to argue, but Ludwig was already turned away, writing again. He glanced over, and there was something of that endless want for freedom, for a new name in his eyes. 'Not tomorrow. In a few days.'

Gilbert shouted in exaltation and grabbed him to pull him out of his chair, and his little brother laughed with him.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Or, for example, would a comedy poke fun at politics but not expectations of people? Would a tragedy do the opposite?**

 ** _:: Snow still hovering in the air after blizzards, so the world seems small and enclosed and white_**


	11. Chapter 11

**I write notes at the starts and ends of chapters to remember what happens next.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert was laughing as he ran through the city streets, his cloak abandoned at some post and his jacket flying behind him. The wind bit at his fingers and face and he grinned into the sun. He felt alive.

His insane ramblings about running away are a reality now, a reality tied to other people. To his little brother. They're going to run away to England-oh, he'll miss Prussia, he'll miss this city dearly, but the taste of freedom in his tongue is sweet and heady and intoxicating. He'll find someone to repair his flute and play without caring who hears him. He'll get a bird with gold feathers and talk about how, about _who_ he loves so the world can hear.

And he would write. To Roderich. To tell him what life was without him. _Grey_ , Gilbert thought with a pang, and missed a step. He kept running.

0o0o0o

He crashed into Lili's rooms flushed red and satisfied with himself, and his sister's look made him go cold.

'Let's not play coy,' he said after a silent second. 'You know what's happening.'

'You're leaving tomorrow?'

'I-hold on.' Gilbert scowled. 'How did you find out?'

'You never look closely enough at your letters to see if they've been opened.' Lili looked away. The weight of a kingdom, once held off her shoulders by Gilbert, was crushing her now. She'd always grown up too fast, and she was not meant to be cutthroat.

'You'll be a good queen,' Gilbert said, trying not to show what he had realized. He'd been so caught up in his friends, his brother, his...Roderich that he'd taken his sister for granted.

'I can try.' She smiled softly. 'Maybe once I'm queen, you can come back.'

'Francis and Antonio told me that once you leave a place truly, you can't really come back.' He cleared his throat. 'And I assume our father would exile me permanently.'

'I could change that,' Lili offered, but there was none of her previous lightheartedness. 'You'll visit?'

'I'll write,' Gilbert said firmly. Lili nodded. He could see the way her lips pressed together and he wanted to apologize for everything, but if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.

'Roderich didn't convince you not to go, then,' she said to break the silence.

'No.' His throat felt thick. 'Lili, you should know. Ludwig is coming with me.'

'Does he know?' she asked humourlessly.

'Yes.' Another thing to apologize for. Taking both her brothers away.

'Does Feliciano Vargas?' she inquired.

'The private?' Gilbert frowned. 'What about him?'

Lili looked stunned before she composed herself. 'I'm surprised Ludwig didn't mention him.'

'Why?'

'He's in love with him.'

Gilbert blinked dumbly. The words settled in his head. 'Oh.'

'Let him say goodbye, if nothing else. If he deserts the army, he won't be able to come back. Neither of you will.'

'I know.' Gilbert stood up. Maybe what was jeered in taverns was true, and his _inclinations_ were infectious. The thought nearly made him smile.

Lili caught him.

'Wait, please. I made this for you.' She held out a handkerchief. He accepted it and turned it over. A lily and a blue cornflower. Her touch was evident in every stitch.

'Thank you.' His voice was too thick. 'You know, you're going to hear of me, and you'll know it's me because they'll all talk about the handkerchief I wear.' It was a ridiculous thing to say, but he hoped it would be true.

'I look forward to it.' Lili smiled gently and bent over her needlepoint, and Gilbert left before either of them could cry.

0o0o0o

He folded the handkerchief deep into his clothes. No matter what type of hard times he fell upon, he would keep it. His flute, Gilbird's cloth, and Lili's handkerchief. All he needed was something from Roderich to remember. Something more than memory.

He needed to tell Ludwig to say goodbye to people, he remembered with a jolt. He pushed his clothes underneath his bed but went to tuck the handkerchief back into his pocket. It caught on something, and he realized it was Roderich's jacket. He pulled it out slowly. It matched his eyes, that dark, startling blue-purple. He could drown in that colour, Gilbert thought. What a sentimental artist he was.

He might as well return it now. It would be difficult to after he left. Gilbert hesitated and removed his cloak to slip Roderich's jacket on. It didn't fit him. He put his cloak back on and arranged it before leaving.

He found Ludwig at a street corner and poked him in the back. He jumped, and Gilbert snickered.

'You're always so uptight,' he teased, elbowing him. Ludwig was taller than him, which made him want to push on his head until his _older_ brother was taller again. It wasn't fair that his _little_ brother was six feet something.

'I'm just...nervous,' Ludwig confessed, and Gilbert suddenly realized he was blushing. 'Do you know where Feliciano is?'

'No.' The thought of telling his brother-jumpy with nerves and thinking of the private he fell for-to say goodbye seemed suddenly too cruel. 'Ludwig, is this about…'

'It is.' Something flickered in his eyes.

'You don't have to leave,' Gilbert said irrationally. 'Or he can come. His brother handles the bar with the theatre in back, though, and I don't know if he'd want to.' Gilbert ran a hand through his hair, wondering rashly if he could ask Lovino to come, and then Antonio and Francis.

No. He had to let go of people. He took a deep breath and thought of everyone he loved, standing in the biting wind with his brother on a street corner, and let himself let them live without him, but Roderich wouldn't leave his thoughts still.

'Perhaps.' Ludwig glanced sideways at him. 'Gilbert. Could he-could we really?'

'I'm not of the mind that anyone you love should be torn away so suddenly,' Gilbert said, and ignored the bitterness of want and irony. 'If he wishes to come, if he is aware of the consequences-well, if we get caught, I'll say it was all my plan. It is. I won't even be lying.'

'I don't-'

'Hello, Ludwig,' someone said from behind him, and his little brother's eyes lit up and he smiled like they were five and unknowing of the world again.

Feliciano Vargas looked up at his brother and smiled back.

'I'll leave you two.' Gilbert nodded to Feliciano, who seemed slightly awestruck, and winked at Ludwig, who flushed red down to his collar. 'Good luck, little brother.'

The more people on this mad run with him, the more risky. Gilbert sighed and kicked a rock along the street. He was only endangering his brother and Feliciano. But he didn't have it in him to be cruel. He hoped he didn't, because he wanted to be kind like he wanted to be free, and even if he could not live for Roderich, he wanted his little brother to have that happiness in his life. He deserved it.

He breathed in, and out, and slowly let Francis and Antonio and Lili from their places so deep in his heart. He would miss them forever, but perhaps his friends would find him, or he really would be able to come back to Prussia.

But for now, he turned up the collar of the coat that wasn't his against the cold and squinted at the setting sun and thought _Roderich, Roderich_.

0o0o0o

Roderich couldn't stop thinking of Gilbert and his promise-proposal-wish. It was so many ifs, so many impossible things that he should stop dreaming, but he can't. He can't because there was a softness in Gilbert's voice, a vulnerability when he said _I would marry you_ and then not a heartbeat later, _not in this world_.

He wanted to scream; he wanted to find Gilbert and demand to know how he'd won him so quickly and deeply; he wanted to find Gilbert and have him, like their night but _more_ -

Roderich leaned back against the rough bark and turned his head until his world was saturated in the scent of pine. Of Gilbert. It wasn't a promise-not in this world-but it was enough, good _God_ , if it could be enough for him.

'Are you cold?'

Roderich started, opening his eyes. Gilbert stood there, smiling in that way he had, and Roderich's heartbeat tripped over itself.

'Yes, I am,' he admitted. Gilbert took off his cloak and wrapped it around him. He leaned against the pine next to him and looked sideways at him, and Roderich could barely see his smile curling over his face-damn him, damn him and his wildness and the kindness in his smile.

'You're wearing my jacket.'

'Really?' Gilbert stretched and the too-small jacket rode up. It was too deep of a colour for him, and yet he wasn't any less vibrant. He turned and grinned. 'Would you like it back?'

'You can keep it for now.' Roderich tugged at the thin shirt underneath his borrowed jacket. 'I wouldn't want you to get sick right before you leave.'

The humour left Gilbert's eyes. 'Roderich.'

'Just...stay safe.' There was the horrible choking mass that had been stuck in his chest ever since Gilbert told him, swallowing his words. He looked up to the stars and wondered if it was past midnight and how soon Gilbert would leave. 'Write. Always. Please.'

'Roderich,' Gilbert began again, but suddenly Roderich couldn't stand the way he could run away, the way he was brave enough, and grabbed Gilbert by his collar and pulled him close. He was not ready. He was not ready to lose the most chaotic and beautiful person in his entire life.

He tasted like ink and pine and salt, like he was chewing on his quill, writing and rewriting a letter that always began _Dearest Roderich_. Roderich didn't realize they were kissing, not really, until Gilbert's hands slipped around him and tugged him closer, until the prince hissed _yes_ against his mouth and Roderich let it happen.

Gilbert drew away. The jacket stood out even more against his blush.

'It's not tomorrow.' He reached out and curled a hand through Roderich's hair. 'I'm leaving in a few days.'

Roderich gasped in relief, and really, there was nothing else to do but kiss him again, whispering something choked, _oh god, Gilbert_.

'Couldn't leave you without saying goodbye,' Gilbert murmured into his temple, and Roderich was crying, he was, and pressed a hand over his mouth to stop the horrible sobbing noises. Gilbert embraced him and Roderich let himself cry.

He felt raw and torn and alive. Gilbert whispered French and Roderich pressed a thumb to the pulse at his neck, gently. Gilbert breathed in slowly, and it shuddered under his finger.

'Careful.'

'Always.' Roderich traced down to his chest and felt Gilbert's heart thudding against his palm.

'Je t'aime,' Gilbert told him, and Roderich shivered.

'Je t'aime, Gilbert.' He raised his eyes slowly and found Gilbert looking at him with something reflected in the red. Perhaps it was just starlight, but Roderich had seen it in those moments where there was nothing in the world but each other.

'Tell me a secret,' Roderich whispered. Gilbert's hair fell into his face and he pushed it away. His eyes shone.  
'I tried to shoot the constellations once.' His finger was white and ghostly in the moonlight as he pointed upwards. 'In my frustration at the world. I lay here on my back, in this very place. And I raised my pistol and shot at the great bear, hoping in some way my bullet would lodge in its flank.'  
'Gilbert,' he whispered, not knowing what to say next.  
His eyes flicked back to Roderich, wild and soft and kind. 'Tell me a secret, too. Something you've never told anyone before.'

His rough hand slid under Roderich's, and their fingers twined. Roderich could feel their heartbeats where the skin of their wrists touched. He wanted this moment to go on forever.

'I would run away with you,' he whispered, and let all his thoughts of duty treason Prussia fall away. He loved Gilbert Beilschmidt, and it didn't matter what that could do.

Gilbert went still and turned to look at him, and Roderich leaned forward. Gilbert's hair was tangled under his fingers and he tasted like salt and pine and night. His mouth was soft. Their breathing was quiet and his heart pounded in his ears. He pulled away. Gilbert's eyes were unreadable.

'Roderich.'

And all his thoughts cane rushing back and Roderich jerked away, terrified and elated. 'No. No. You have a duty to Prussia.'

'I would let Prussia _burn_ for you, Roderich,' Gilbert told him, and there was a word-a protest-halfway out of his mouth before there was nothing but white hair, red eyes, _clever tongue._ 'My dearest Roderich.'

 **0o0o0o**

 **The plot may not be entirely my own making, but I interpret it enough.**

 ** _:: Songs you heard a long time ago, playing again_**


	12. Chapter 12

**Matching historical dates and figures is a challenge.**

 **0o0o0o**

Somewhere behind the silvered outline of Gilbert's hair, there was the looming outline of the church. Roderich didn't care.

'Really?' he asked. He had to catch his breath, he had to remember how to think. He'd promised _everything_ and it felt like living was supposed to be.

'Anything, anything for you,' Gilbert promised. His voice was hoarse. 'England. I intend to go to England, and-oh, _Roderich_. What do I say to you? What have I ever been able to say to convey what I feel for you?'

'Je t'aime,' Roderich offered, half to answer and half to tell. He wanted to say it over and over. Gilbert's drawn expression broke into an exhausted, jubilant grin.

'Je t'aime. Even if I've never been good with words, that at least I can say.' He tipped Roderich's head up to kiss him. 'How wonderful it is that such a thing can exist between men as well.'

'Indeed.' Roderich let Gilbert rest his head on his shoulder. There was a warm kind of happiness suffusing his entire body, chasing away the cold of the night air. 'Are you tired?'

Gilbert opened his eyes. His face was flushed red and his eyes were bright. 'No. Not at all. I'm-I'm overwhelmed, that's what I am. _Roderich_. You're really coming with me?'

'I am.'

Gilbert twirled him around with a laugh, and Roderich's heart beat faster. He was dizzy when Gilbert set him back down, and the prince steadied him.

'Careful.'

'Ridiculous. If I had any carefulness left in me, it disappeared after I realized I would follow you to the ends of the earth.'

'And when was that?' Gilbert asked.

'Longer ago than you'd care to know.' Roderich let Gilbert embrace him to ward off the cold. 'You should sleep.'

'I should, I should. You're hypocritical, though, I know you won't be.'

'No.' Roderich smiled. 'England.'

'Yes.' They both shivered at the word. 'Tomorrow. Or, I suppose it's today now. I'll tell you everything.'

'Why the hurry?' Roderich teased. Was it his imagination that Gilbert touched the sword on his left?

'I have...business I need to attend to.' He bent again for a chaste kiss. 'Roderich, it's going to be so dangerous.'

'I would brave anything for you.' Roderich let him go. Gilbert tucked the too-small jacket tighter around him and nodded once, eyes glittering like the birds who sang in the trees. He turned and left, the moonlight of him fading into the darkness.

Roderich didn't realize how exhausted he was until he was home, nervous excitement still sparking through his fingers, and fell asleep without thinking.

0o0o0o

A girl with pale, short hair was working the bar when Gilbert arrived, and he recognized her as the one Francis had called.

'You know my friends?' he asked. 'Francis? Blue eyes and blond hair. Antonio has green eyes and flirts with the actor. They...they're expecting me,' he lied.

The girl's eyes lit up in recognition. 'I know Antonio. He's upstairs, name's written on the door. Just knock, they shouldn't be asleep this early.'

'Thank you…?'

'Emma,' she said. 'Oh, and...just be careful opening the door.'

Gilbert tried the door. It was sticky, as if it was wedged shut, and he gently pried it open and whispered 'Antonio?'

There was a muffled curse from someone who was very obviously _not_ Antonio, and a loud _thump_ of something wrapped in blankets hitting the floor. Gilbert's mind instantly went to an intruder. He threw open the door and-

'Get out!' Lovino screeched, pulling the remaining blankets up to his neck. On the ground, Antonio sat up, wincing, and went pale as he, and Gilbert, realized that he was completely-

Gilbert slammed the door and slid to the ground in the hallway. The door opposite creaked open. Francis looked blearily down at him.

'Gilbert?'

'Antonio?' Gilbert croaked. 'In there. I thought you two were sharing a room?'

'We were. This one was...well, on the house.' Francis rubbed a hand through his hair. 'Mon ami, please do not tell me you hadn't realized they were already together.'

'Well,' Gilbert started, but Antonio finally opened the door-thankfully covered-and looked down to where Gilbert was sitting.

'Gilbert-' He glanced back into the room. 'You know what you saw.'

'Too much,' Gilbert interjected, and he reddened.

'You're not…'

'For heaven's sake, Antonio! He's after the lieutenant!' Francis cried, and pointed them all downstairs to have a drink.

After half a glass, Antonio could look him in the eyes again. Lovino was still staring into his drink.

'Good job,' Gilbert said, and Antonio blushed again.

'I...thanks?'

'Don't worry, drinks are on Francis,' Gilbert said, clapping him on the back. Beside him, Francis put down his glass. 'I was coming to ask if you knew where I could get a tattoo.'

'Why?'

'I have my reasons.' He tipped back the dregs. 'You can come if you want. Lovino, too.'

'I know a place,' Francis said, and pushed them all out of the theatre bar before they drank any more.

0o0o0o

The shopkeeper's mouth dropped open when their small party of four entered the tiny, tucked-away shop. It had been the only one open this late due to having a second function, which Gilbert assumed was why Francis knew about it.

'Most of our regulars are taken, your Majesty,' he stammered. Francis' eyes flicked towards the back, and a loud noise echoed through the shop.

'We're here to get a tattoo,' Gilbert assured him. He casually dropped a handful of coins on the counter. 'For your trouble. I assume you'd prefer for your business to remain...discreet in the eyes of the law.'

The man nodded. He led them over to the tattoo station and wiped down the materials. Gilbert was relieved to see that everything looked clean enough.

'I'm Toris,' the man introduced. Gilbert watched as he handled the materials and the worry in his eyes faded away.

'Where is Feliks?' Francis interrupted. Toris pointed towards a side room. Francis left. Gilbert expected him to come back lighter of purse. He did, after five minutes, with a large smile, and waved as a blond man-Feliks-escorted him to the back and through the door.

'What tattoo did you want?' Toris asked, and Gilbert determinedly looked away from the door.

'I want that, full-sized. Here.' Gilbert pointed. 'Not coloured, not shaded. A simple, black line drawing, please.'

Toris gave him a look. 'It is a…'

'It's what I want,' Gilbert said firmly. 'Cost does not matter.'

'It will hurt,' Toris said hesitantly. 'The area is bony in places.'

'Irrelevant,' Gilbert said. Behind him, Antonio moved as if to stop him. 'How quickly can you complete it?'

'It will take tonight and tomorrow.' He fiddled with his needles nervously. 'Are you sure?'

Gilbert wordlessly climbed onto the table and closed his eyes. A few seconds later he felt the first jabs of the needle.

0o0o0o

Francis had come out looking satisfied. Gilbert was aching. Antonio looked between them, seemingly at a loss between being enthusiastic and worried, and settled for looking at Lovino instead.

'I'm surprised you didn't get a tattoo,' Gilbert said. Antonio shrugged.

'I already have a few.'

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Lovino didn't look surprised. Of course he didn't. 'What of?'

'An eagle,' Lovino said, and everyone looked at him. He glanced away, but Gilbert could see him smile. 'In red and yellow ink. All across his back.'

Gilbert tried to catch Antonio's eye the whole way they walked and failed.

They stopped in front of the palace.

'You are going to get in trouble one day with all this sneaking out at night,' Francis told him half-seriously, and Gilbert snorted.

'Oh, if the king only knew how much sneaking out I'll be doing soon.' He looked over at Lovino, who was frowning, and momentarily wondered if he should have been so careless. But he trusted Antonio, and Antonio trusted Lovino. He wouldn't tell.

But Gilbert should tell _him_ what had been offered to his brother.

'You two go back,' he said to his friends. 'I need to talk to Lovino. If that's okay with you?' He directed the latter to the man in front of him.

The actor's eyes narrowed, but he stayed still as Gilbert's friends left. 'What do you need?'

'Listen. I…' The words stuck on his tongue. 'Ask Antonio later for the details. All you need to know now is that your brother might be leaving Prussia and not come back.'

' _What?_ Why?' Lovino snarled. 'He can't do that. He can't just run away.'

'It's his choice to make,' Gilbert said carefully.

'It's because of the potato bastard, isn't it?' Lovino spat.

'That's my brother,' Gilbert snapped. Lovino jerked in surprise. 'Half brother. My father's son but not my mother's. And...it is because of him, but if you have a problem, you can take it up with me.'

Gilbert expected Lovino to punch him, or to demand he stop Feliciano from leaving. He didn't expect Lovino to grab his collar and haul him down until they were eye-to-eye and whisper ' _God help you if my brother gets hurt because of you_ ' and shove him away.

Gilbert watched Lovino stalk away down the street, and shout ' _Antonio!_ ' until his friend turned and caught him. He watched them go and stumbled off to his rooms alone.

He was sore deep down and fearful and _elated_ and barely took off Roderich's jacket before he fell asleep.

0o0o0o

Gilbert found it even harder than normal to concentrate on arithmetic when Roderich sat beside him close and their hands brushed underneath the table. As he bent over his papers, he looked perfectly studious, but he met Gilbert's eyes and smiled.

When the tutor and Roderich both turned away as a boy dropped his quills, Gilbert leaned over and wrote _dans deux heures, mes chambres_ on the corner of his paper. Roderich saw it when he turned back.

'Bien sûr,' he murmured, and Gilbert shivered. French was their language of secrets, and therefore the honesty they could not say otherwise. But most of all, it was _theirs_.

0o0o0o

Gilbert was glad he'd said he would be back later rather than earlier to the tattoo shop, as he only winced a little bit when he laid back on his bed. He pulled the letter with the map from behind the headboard.

'Is that my letter?' Roderich asked.

'It is,' Gilbert said. 'Look. Here we are, Berlin, and we go to Mannheim to Küstrin to Leipzig. And my brother is coming.'

'Ludwig?'

'I offered.' Gilbert put down the letter before he tore it with his fidgeting and motioned Roderich to sit on the bed with him. Roderich moved slowly, easing himself down to sit on the edge.

'And your plan is just to run?'

'I don't lead a wing for nothing,' he said, nudging Roderich. 'We go in groups, at different times, and meet at Leipzig. I will obviously go-'

'First,' Roderich said. Gilbert slowly looked up.

'Last,' he said clearly. Roderich stood up, pointing down at him.

'The longer you stay here, the more dangerous it becomes. I will not have this mission jeopardized by your refusal to be selfish, Gilbert.'

'I'm plenty selfish, believe me. I will not allow you or my brother to be caught for what is my decision.' He drew a breath. 'By the time I leave, you will be safe. No sooner.'

They stayed locked in a staring match before Roderich sunk back onto the bed and buried his face in his hands.

'Could I convince you otherwise?' he asked dully. 'Gilbert, you fearless hurricane of a prince?'

'No,' Gilbert told him. He gazed up at the ceiling. Roderich was still.

'We will be safe,' he promised, and lay back until they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, so close they could feel each other's heartbeats.

'We are forging history. That's not always safe,' Gilbert told him. He felt it, heard it's call, tasted the iron of it. History called to him. 'However, our flight would be unforgettable. The runaway Prussian prince and his…' Gilbert caught his hand and pressed it to his lips. 'King.'

Roderich breathed in sharp and the entire energy of his body changed. 'King,' he repeated.

'Nothing less.' Gilbert could see the quick rising and falling of Roderich's chest. 'The question here is whether history will praise me or scorn me for...for you.'

'If it will scorn anyone, it will be me,' Roderich teased, but his breath caught. 'I am...the prince's secret, hidden lover, tempting him away from the throne and his _beloved_ queen.'

'Ah, yes, the queen I'll meet at some formal event and instantly decide she is my one love. Of course the suddenly offered dowry has nothing to do with it, nor the convenient political alliance.' Gilbert grinned. 'How unfortunate that I met a musician and learned his prides and touch and loved him in a way I did not know could be.'

'And what is that way?' Roderich asked softly. Gilbert tilted his head, and his eyes glimmered.

'When you speak, I think of music, of all the freedom of it. When you speak, I think of what is waiting, of what I can be.'

'You're going to be everything, Gilbert.'

'But not without you.'

They are close, close, close, and they both realize the press of their hands and chests at the same time and back away, giving each other secret, guilty, exhilarated glances like they are young and unknowing of love again.

'How we would have been forgotten,' Roderich said, rolling onto his back again. His face is red high on his cheeks. Gilbert can feel his whole face burning. Roderich turned towards him. His dark hair fell into his eyes. 'But they won't forget this. You will become immortal in legend, Gilbert.'

'You as well.'

'No.' Roderich waved it away, his eyes still fixed on his. 'History is waiting for you, not for me.'

'I am nothing without you beside me,' Gilbert said again, and wanted, wanted, wanted.

'You need a false name,' Roderich said abruptly, turning away to stare upwards. Gilbert swallowed hard.

'I-I have one.'

'That was quick.' Roderich was still pressed towards him and Gilbert's body hummed. They were close. 'Who are you, Gilbert?'

'It's a name I've gone by for a long time. The...the Marquis d'Ambreville.'

Roderich looked at him disbelievingly. 'The musician.'

'Yes.'

'You are...you're brilliant, Gilbert.' Roderich leaned forward and kissed him and Gilbert's body sang. 'Brilliant,' he repeated.

'Do you need a name?' Gilbert asked stupidly, because it was all he could think of.

'I'm not anybody,' Roderich said, and Gilbert opened his mouth to correct him. 'In the eyes of the public. You're the prince.'

'I still advise against using your real name,' Gilbert mumbled.

'I'll find something. And your brother shouldn't need one either.'

'My brother needs to take a different path than the towns,' Gilbert realized. 'So if we are trailed, he can escape. You should go with him.'

'No.' Roderich's eyes were steely bright. 'When I fell for you, I chose to face whatever dangers you might encounter.'

If he didn't stop smiling so much they'd never get any more planning done. 'Je t'aime,' he said, though, because he was gloriously, sun-bright happy.

'Je t'aime,' Roderich replied.

They lay there entangled and shining in their happiness. They had to take action sooner or later, but these stolen seconds were a break of peace in the looming storm.

'Why England?' Roderich asked. Their fingers twined overtop the sheets. 'We know French better, and I cannot help but notice the French poetry on your shelves.'

Gilbert's heart jumped at that word, we. 'It just looked so far away,' he confessed. 'Roderich, when do I ever make decisions based on more than reckless love?'

'Rarely,' Roderich admitted with a smile. 'Tell me again. How we plan to run away.'

'First,' Gilbert whispered, feeling like a child with a secret again, warm and sparkling, 'my brother and Feliciano will go directly to England. You will go to the towns. I will see you at Leipzig, Roderich, and no excuses.'

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

And perhaps it was okay to give in to the closeness between them as they lay on the sun-soaked bed and be simply happy in each other's touches.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Researching figures without listed titles and common names is even harder.**

 ** _:: Books with covers almost like fabric, old and in archaic speech_**


	13. Chapter 13

**I wonder if I prefer less linear storylines when reading.**

 **0o0o0o**

Their papers lay scattered across the bed, covered in messy ink detailing exactly how they planned their treason. What a sight they'd be if anyone happened to force open the door. The prince and the lieutenant twisted together on the bed, surrounded by their plans. Gilbert didn't know what he'd be executed for first, and couldn't care less about it. This was what living was supposed to be like-who you loved and the plans of what you were meant to do. This is who they could be; this is who they would be. However, he still didn't want the ink on his clothes.

'Come on,' he said, tugging Roderich off the bed. His lieutenant smiled like he was made of war and settled them in the armchair.

'You do know I have to leave eventually,' he said teasingly, and Gilbert laughed and bent forward to kiss him.

'How long is eventually?'

'We'll see.'

It was okay to be happy with him, Gilbert decided. He didn't always allow himself to be golden, gloriously happy, and with every movement he was reminded that once they left, nothing could stop him from being happy. He was giddy, punch-drunk stupid on Roderich's touch and smiling and the world was nothing but them, them, them and their joy. This is what freedom would be like, Gilbert thought as Roderich laced a hand in his hair and asked when they would leave.

'Not tonight, but maybe in two nights. I will ask Ludwig when he's ready, for we should leave as soon as we can. There is no reason to put it off, is there?'

'Not anymore,' Roderich said, smiling. His eyes were even more startling this close, in their exhilaration. 'I expect my jacket back eventually, you know. You can give it back at Leipzig.'

'Agreed,' Gilbert said. Roderich's quick breathing slowed slightly.

'Part of me can't believe that we are really going to leave. Oh, Gilbert, you were right. We can forge history.'

'Roderich, they'll speak our names and wonder what we did and we can say-'

'-we lived.' Roderich's eyes shone. He pressed his palms flat against Gilbert's chest and felt his heartbeat, fast and fluttering. 'I'll see you in Leipzig, my prince.'

'My dearest Roderich.' Gilbert let him step away-he was dizzy and every inch of his skin tingled and he doubted he could stand if he tried. Roderich pulled on his coat from the bed and looked his way one last time.

'You must be some sort of madman, Gilbert Beilschmidt, to convince me of this.' He nodded, a smile still lingering on his lips, and left. Gilbert watched out the window as his small indigo figure hurried across the lawns below and wondered how exactly he had managed to find someone as wonderfully, wildly enchanting as Roderich. He stayed in the armchair for a long few minutes more, breathless, before he leapt up and raced out of the palace to find his brother.

0o0o0o

He was careful to knock before he entered the room this time, but thankfully, Ludwig was just sitting at his desk, writing again. He stuffed the paper underneath a nearby book and glared.

'I locked the front door!'

Gilbert dropped the pick back into his pocket. 'You weren't answering.'

'That's hardly an excuse.' Ludwig glanced rather furtively at his book, and Gilbert strolled over to look.

'Who are you writing to?'

'Nobody.'

'Feliciano?' Gilbert teased, and Ludwig blushed. He raised an eyebrow. 'You really are writing to him?'

'I'm writing about leaving. Mostly.' Ludwig fiddled with the edge of the letter. 'He agreed to come.'

'He trusts you, doesn't he? You don't even know the details.'

'He trusts me, yes, but…'

'But?' Gilbert perched on the desk and Ludwig made a face. He grinned.

'That's all.'

Gilbert didn't believe him for a second, but there were more important things at stake. For now. 'We should be leaving soon. Not tonight, but maybe in two nights?'

'Two nights.' Ludwig breathed out slow and looked up. 'It seems so sudden now that we are really about to leave.'

'You don't have to do this,' Gilbert told him gently. Ludwig glanced sideways at him and scoffed.

'I feel like an adventure. Can I say that?'

'You can.' Gilbert looked down and saw the signature of the letter. He smiled. He didn't know any _trusting friends_ who signed _yours, always_. 'Ludwig, if you and Feliciano can get out of the city tomorrow instead of the day after, go straight to England. I can get you funds.'

'You aren't coming?'

'In two nights, I am. I have...things I need to do tonight.'

'We might be able to leave tonight, Feliciano and I. I told him to go see his brother, and I am going to see Lili.' Ludwig took off his glasses and wiped them maybe too hard to be necessary.

'Of course.' Gilbert nudged him gently. 'What's bothering you?'

'I'm scared,' Ludwig said suddenly, and looked away, grimacing. 'I'm sorry.'

'Ludwig,' Gilbert began, not even sure what he could say. 'I should be the sorry one.'

'For what?' Ludwig folded his glasses with shaking hands and set them aside. 'I'm selfish for doing this.'

'You are not selfish, for God's sake. I'm the selfish one here. What are you scared of? Because I promise you, I will not be angry if you don't want to leave-'

'I want to leave!' Ludwig slammed his hands on the desk and Gilbert jumped. 'That's what is selfish about this! That's what I'm _scared_ of. Feliciano has a _brother_ here and I-I want to leave. I don't know what I'm supposed to _do_ anymore.'

'I...oh God, I've been a horrible big brother to you.' Gilbert gingerly reached out and Ludwig let himself be embraced.

'You had your duties,' Ludwig pointed out, not looking up from the table. His voice cracked.

' _Duty_ is why I somehow talked you into doing this!'

' _Somehow_ is because there is nothing for me here! I'm the king's _bastard son_ , Gilbert.'

Gilbert shook him gently and Ludwig finally looked up. He ached all over inside. He'd never really thought what growing up like his brother had did to him and he hated himself for that.

'Listen to me. _I_ am sorry for not being around enough. I am sorry for our father for not realizing he should have raised the most awesome little brother in the world. You're going to be great. You don't need anyone.'

'I need you,' Ludwig said quietly.

Gilbert laughed and blinked back tears. His eyes stung. 'Go see Lili. Write. Tell me when you're leaving.'

Ludwig nodded slowly. Gilbert let go of him. 'Good man,' he said, choking on all his words unsaid. 'I'm proud of you.'

Ludwig smiled, just barely, and left.

Gilbert wandered the streets, heart aching, until he found the tattoo shop again. Toris locked the door and closed the blinds and finished his tattoo. The pain on his skin couldn't distract from his guilt.

0o0o0o

Gilbert arranged for his brother to be sent money and penned a final letter to his sister.

 _May it please Her Majesty to receive this correspondence_

 _I will miss you, but I am of confidence that we will hear of each other. Do not be disappointed in me. I fear I have always had too much of a wild spirit to stay here, and I am not suited to the crown. Do not fear for me. I have more than enough wits to handle myself. The man who will bring this rather likes you. Talk to him._

 _Burn this letter once you read it. Reveal to nobody that you once knew of my plans._

 _Your faithful servant, brother, and soon to be ex-prince,_

 _Gilbert Beilschmidt_

He pressed it into Francis' hand at the theatre bar and told him to deliver it to Lili. His oldest friends looked at him and nodded. They knew.

'Tonight?' Antonio asked quietly.

'Tomorrow.' Gilbert laughed halfheartedly and rubbed his hands across the worn-smooth table. He had a feeling Ludwig would be gone tonight. 'I thought I'd say goodbye.'

Lovino sat down at their table and pulled back his hair into a ponytail. 'My brother leaves tonight,' he said. It wasn't a question. Gilbert nodded and accepted the drink he passed over. Lovino eyed them all and snorted. 'What are you doing here, then? I assumed your last night here would be something a bit more fitting for the idiots who've been crashing my theatre for weeks.'

'He's right, you know.' Antonio stood up, smiling broadly, but his eyes were red. 'Let's send our prince off with a celebration.'

'Of course,' Francis mumbled into his drink. He sounded like he'd been crying.

'Antonio, come here,' Gilbert said. 'You too, Francis. I won't have my best friends moping about me.'

Francis stood up and threw his arms around him. Gilbert staggered and embraced Antonio as well. He looked at Lovino, standing back, and motioned at him. 'Come on.' Lovino rolled his eyes and came closer.

'You'll write?' Francis asked.

'I'll write,' Gilbert promised.

0o0o0o

There was no need to check that his brother was gone. The house was dark, and when Gilbert opened the door, the dogs were gone. He found the bedroom perfect, as if his brother was just about to come back, but the shelves were empty of his favourite books. Gilbert leaned against the wall and imagined again his little brother confessing he was scared.

The terror of what he was doing had lodged in his stomach and burned with a vicious, heady kind of satisfaction. As he sat down on the bed, his tattoo stung, and he grimaced. He didn't regret the tattoo, not in the slightest, but now that he was off the adrenaline high of running around the city, he felt tired like he'd never been before. He carefully stood up and left, as if Ludwig would step in the door for a quill or an inkwell and closed the door soundlessly behind him before leaving. He could feel Ludwig's absence inside of him like a wound.

He wouldn't normally go back to the palace, considering what he was about to do in less than twenty-four hours. Gilbert was confident the Soldier King would overlook punishment for staying out past curfew in favour of punishment for treason against the crown. But the urge had been building ever since that day-he needed music. He needed to sit against his door or have Roderich stand guard and drown out the world with something more beautiful. He needed to be a creator instead of a destroyer, for once, for once, for once.

But his flute was broken.

Gilbert moved before he realized and found himself standing in front of Roderich's door. When Roderich opened the door, all Gilbert's jumbled words about music and twenty-four hours and missing brothers deserted him instead.

'I need music,' he said, knowing what he looked like. A prince in despair, a runaway with fears, a longing artist without his instrument. Roderich, his musician soldier, his artist to his own heart, let him inside and let him sit close at the piano as he drew a soft and wistful Nocturne from the keys, and for the first time since his flute was broken Gilbert felt peaceful.

'Tomorrow,' he said. Roderich smiled slightly and the melody became _Edelweiss_.

 **0o0o0o**

 **I would like to read more varied types of storytelling whenever I have the time.**

 ** _:: Falling asleep on trains, with the sound of conversation in the background_**


	14. Chapter 14

**Historical fiction is unfortunately constrained by the facts.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert made an effort to attend his daily doings. He helped his father's giants do drills. He went to his classes. He packed and unpacked his clothes and practiced a silent _Edelweiss_ on his broken flute. He didn't even sneak out of the palace, or visit his friends, or see his sister to know if she'd read his letter. He was being a good son for once, a dutiful prince, on the cusp of his treason.

Gilbert asked himself why he was so nervous to the point of damp palms and stuttering heart. He thought he'd be more joyful at freedom so close, but the only indication of their freedom as of yet was his brother. Since there were no whipping posts in the square, they must have escaped unnoticed. Gilbert was happy for them-he was overjoyed, this was the one good thing he could do-but he was still terrified for Roderich and himself.

If they were caught, they would be sentenced to the unthinkable. He couldn't think of that. He couldn't think of anything except freedom, because if he faltered or misspoke or paused for even a step, they would pay the price dearly.

Gilbert's restless eyes caught the papers piled on his desk, and he smiled. The map was safely in his bags, but his letters to Francis or Antonio or even Ludwig would need to be destroyed. The papers bit into his skin and gave him stinging cuts as he pulled every link to his secret life from among the bureaucratic papers. He read them through one final time, trying to memorize the swoop and swell of Francis' cursive or Antonio's looping scribble, and looked again at the words through which he'd fell in love with an lieutenant. He didn't want to burn them, because they were raw and real and something untouched by drills or duty, but he piled them into a sheaf of memories and let his secrecy burn, and it felt like being reborn.

He'd always said that one of the greatest pleasures was to discover new truths, and the next was to shake off old prejudices. Before they'd even finished charring, Gilbert was sorting through his papers, essays written about war and peace and life. Any one of them would garner him a night or two in prison, from the one about making war as a fashion here to stay to the satirical one he'd penned about how men must get to their own heavens. He would rewrite them in England under another name, but for now, he turned them into ash, striking black against his skin. He found a simple doodle at the bottom on the pile and pushed it into his pocket instead.

Gilbert filled his hours with burning his papers and sparring and thinking of Roderich, and with every letter in ashes, his will crystallized. He began to compose some sort of last letter from all the things he burned, and toyed with a plan of what he would do before he left, but it never took place. Nothing seemed right to leave his mark before he left. The plan would have be a calculated, brilliant risk. He never was good at math.

It was only when Gilbert was watching the sun slide down across the sky, twirling his quill in his hands and adding details to the doodle of a man sitting on a bench that he realized why he was being the good son for once and what his plan built up to. He wanted to go speak to Aldrich. He wanted to look him in the eyes and find some agreement there. He needed to find some desperate form of acceptance before he could stop being the crown prince and simply be Gilbert, and he was terrified he would find nothing.

He looked down and noticed that he'd drawn the man holding a sword, with a curled hair and glasses. He signed it _joli_ and put it in his pocket before he left to go see his father.

0o0o0o

His father was sitting at the piano, and Gilbert felt a momentary flash of possessiveness before he realized his father was playing something light and soft and kind, and with a start realized it was a piece under the name of the Marquis d'Ambreville. He stood frozen in the doorway of the great hall until the music faded. His father did not stand up or look away from the piano. He rested his fingers on the keys.

'You can come in, Gilbert.'

Gilbert did so as if entering a lion's den. His father didn't move as he came closer, and finally, Gilbert sat down beside him.

Ludwig really was his father's son. Their eyes were the exact same shade and size and shape. When his brother had been younger, he'd had different, and Gilbert had almost liked that. Ludwig changed, though, but perhaps he and his father were even now not so different.

'I didn't know you knew how to play the piano.'

'I learned a long time ago.' Aldrich looked him over, not judgmentally but as if assessing him anew. 'Can your flute be fixed?'

'I doubt so,' Gilbert said, tasting bitterness.

'What are you here for?' he asked. Gilbert looked at the piano keys instead, and thought of Roderich.

'Tell me about being king,' he said.

'It is a weight,' Aldrich said almost instantly. 'You feel every one of your citizens, from the nobles to the peasants, and you are never able to balance all of them. You must try your best, though, lest they fall upon your palace and raze it.' He smiled slightly.

Gilbert thought of his friends whispering rumours about the king. Mad, they said. Ramblings of a madman they might be, but Gilbert felt every word like armour.

'Do you regret becoming king?' Gilbert asked.

'I cannot answer such a question,' Aldrich told him after a long pause. Gilbert slid his hands over the piano keys and his father moved away.

'Try,' he challenged.

'I cannot regret it,' Aldrich relented.

'Cannot or will not?'

'Both.' His father looked at him and his eyes were nearly lucid clear. Gilbert had two more question and they hovered on his tongue, ready to be answered- _are you proud of me? Would I make a great king?_ -but they stuck in his throat. He was not ready for answers. He was still a coward, but he could ask something, something real. If he could not walk away with his father's pride, he would walk out under his own blood. He would make his own. A melody drifted through the air, and dimly, he recognized it.

'Father,' he began, and the word felt foreign. His head ached, his skin burned. 'Do you remember the officer, Ludwig?'

His father went still. Gilbert grinned wide. The world tilted.

'My little brother says hello,' he said, and slammed a discordant howl out of the last keys of _Nocturne_. His father stared at him and Gilbert saw disbelief, fear, and confusion work through familiar blue eyes before he turned and left. If kings were fashioned after gods, a sorry god they worshipped.

As he strode from the palace, he saw the faraway spire of the church. What God would think of him, the sinner, the coward, the caged, clipped, tied bird opening its throat to sing. The unfinished letter itched in his pocket and he pulled it out of his cloak pocket with its quill still dripping and finished it-half poetry, half love letter-with instructions.

 _Burn this letter once you read it. Sentimentality would be a poor excuse for getting caught._

He pushed it into the first private's hand he saw with a few coins and directed him to where Roderich's house was. He continued onwards to the church. If he could lay down his debt and his fears and his sins, maybe God would forgive him where his father could not.

0o0o0o

The church was silent. Gilbert knelt alone save for the few sisters who gathered near the pews. They kept a respectful distance, and Gilbert wet his lips and yearned for some kind of recognition. His sword felt too heavy on his right hip. His bones hurt and his tattoo had not healed.

'I would ask You why You have given me this sort of life,' he prayed quietly. 'Do You have a plan? Am I doing the right thing? Or am I beyond all help? Am I lost to You until I stop loving like my heart desires?'

He foolishly expected an answer. There was nothing but ringing, hollow silence.

'I will never,' he swore suddenly, furious at himself for being so superstitious, ' _never_ stop loving how I was born to.'

In the rafters, a bird called, followed by another, and another, until the entire church was lit up with songs of free creatures that did not care for nations nor duty nor gods. Gilbert breathed out slowly and tried to calm his heartbeat and listened to the birds. Perhaps it was a sign.

0o0o0o

Roderich tore open the letter so fast he nearly ripped it.

 _My dearest Roderich,_

 _Tonight we leave. Do not worry. We will never be caught, but if we are, I will not let you come to harm. We were simply surveying, as is my right as prince._

 _Twelve AM tonight you shall be gone. I will leave an hour before you. Be careful._

 _Oh, my love. I never expected our lives to collide, but dare I say that at least mine is better for it? Forgive my forwardness. I have always been better with the pen than with my words, and sitting here, all my thoughts I never told you spill onto the paper. Over and over again, all I can think is that we have made it. I have fallen in love with you like I have with no other. It is a kind of love I did not know I could experience._

 _I am off, my dear Roderich. My precautions are well-taken, so I have nothing to fear. I shall go through Leipzig, where I shall pass myself as the Marquis d'Ambreville. I have already sent word to my brother, who is to go straight to England. Lose no time, for I expect to meet you at Leipzig._

 _Adieu! Be of good cheer._

Roderich smoothed the letter against his desk with shaking hands, taking in again every curl of ink, every word from his Gilbert's hands. His prince's words sunk into his bones and the very fibres of his being. He wanted to repeat every tender word to himself until he knew intimately every pulse and touch of who Gilbert was. He wanted to press his words against Gilbert's skin as offerings of hands and mouth and breath. He wanted Gilbert, and the longing was rooted deep, but he couldn't. He couldn't endanger them like that.

First Roderich paced, restlessly packing and repacking his bags. He checked the time obsessively for how long he had left until Gilbert had left. Four hours and thirty three minutes.

He spread out the letter again and brought his lamp closer. The day was dark already. Scribbled at the bottom was a postscript detailing to burn the letter. Roderich stared at it in surprise before smiling slightly and tucking the letter away into his pocket. Three hours and forty eight minutes.

He sat down at his piano and closed his eyes against the world and played, played until everything was music and the music was him, but even that wouldn't make the want go away. It burned at him until the music cut off with a discordant rasp that sounded like a Prussian prince's barking laugh. Two hours, twenty six minutes.

I expect to meet you at Leipzig, the letter had said, but Roderich wanted to see him before he left and hear his voice one last time. He gathered his things and sheathed his sword at his hip and slowly, wistfully, played Nocturne. He would miss his piano most of all, of all the things left behind.

Roderich left his house darkened and lonely and pulled the hood of a cloak down over his face before he left. Two hours, one minute.

He waited for the changing of the guard and snuck inside, his heart hammering at his neck and wrist and chest, racing up the stairs until he hovered outside Gilbert's door, his breath misting in the cool air.

'Gilbert,' he whispered, not daring any louder. Barely a second afterwards, the door silently opened, and his prince's sleepless red eyes stared at him in a mixture of shock and relief.

'My dearest Roderich, what are you doing here?' he asked playfully. He sounded exhausted. Roderich held out his arms in answer, and Gilbert collapsed into them.

'Have you slept at all?'

'I am too worried. Don't give me that look. You haven't slept, have you?'

'I wanted to see you,' Roderich said. Gilbert laughed quietly, pulled him closer, and shut the door behind them.

'I should berate you for your foolhardiness, but all I can say with truth is that I have missed you dearly,' Gilbert said. His breathing was quick and his heart was sparrow-fast. 'How long do we have?'

'One hour, forty-one minutes,' Roderich said. His mouth was dry and his vision was blurry and all he could think was that night where they'd been so close but not enough. Time seemed to be taking missteps when Gilbert was staring at his lips with an expression like realization and his eyelashes were fine silver in the moonlight and time did not move at all when Roderich leaned in and kissed him and his prince made a soft, desperate noise into his mouth.

He pulled back. Gilbert's eyes were hazy and his hands had tightened on Roderich's sides. They stared at each other across bare inches. Gilbert seemed to be uselessly working for words.

'Gilbert,' Roderich began, and Gilbert gently pushed him back against the door and kissed him again, again.

'I have wanted you like I have wanted no other,' he said hoarsely. 'Roderich Edelstein.'

Roderich could feel his heartbeat in every fibre of his body and there was nothing to say, there never had been the words to quite describe how he loved Gilbert, except maybe dearest. He felt electrified in the living of them both.

'Gilbert, my prince. I want you as well.'

Gilbert pressed his back into the bed and unbuttoned his clothes, and Roderich would have felt cold in the night air if every inch of his body didn't feel so lit up from the inside. He was already half mad with the feelings and Gilbert was barely touching him.

'Do you have…?'

'I have cream.' Gilbert leaned down to kiss him, murmuring _hold on_ and Roderich gripped his hand through the stretch and tried to focus on Gilbert kissing along his chest. He was torn between it all and when Gilbert wrapped a hand around him he jerked. Everything was blurry and sharp and moonlit silver, everything was in the curve of Gilbert's back as he pushed inside and whispered _je t'aime, je t'aime, vôtre toujours, oh mon Dieu, mon Dieu s'il te plait_ -

'Gilbert, _please_ -!' Roderich thought of everything his life had poured into him and pressed his hands against Gilbert's shaking chest, against his scars and Gilbert bit back a cry. Roderich felt him, every inch of his prince's body, gasping and shuddering and so much better than that night afterwards where he'd had to take care of himself. Roderich was unseeing in the rush of it all, close, close to his prince who touched him with gentle, trembling, pleading hands, kissed him and moved and touched him _there_ and he loved him, he loved him, _Gilbert oh God Gilbert_ -

They lay there in the afterglow and slowly, slowly, Gilbert rolled onto his side and kissed him.

'Roderich,' he said shakily, and Roderich shook his head and kissed him again. Everything was too much and not enough. The minutes ticked by. Twenty seven minutes.

'Je t'aime, Gilbert,' Roderich said at nineteen minutes.

'Je t'aime, Roderich,' Gilbert replied against his chest. At fifteen minutes to eleven they finally, as if by some unspoken agreement, moved and cleaned themselves off. Gilbert sat by his bag silently. He buried his face in his hands.

Eight minutes. Gilbert stood suddenly and Roderich embraced him and they stood, whispering all their promises as the last few seconds ticked away.

'I expect to see you at Leipzig,' Gilbert told him.

'Yes. Of course.'

'Of course. Oh God, Roderich, my dearest. I love you.'

'I love you too,' Roderich whispered to him, and they stood and did nothing as the clock rang eleven.

Gilbert slowly pulled away.

'Adieu, Roderich,' he said, and gave him a chaste, lingering kiss. 'Be of good cheer.'

'You as well,' Roderich whispered. Gilbert smiled softly. Their fingers twined.

'Here.' Gilbert leaned over and tied his hair back from where it was growing out. Roderich reaches back and felt a silk ribbon. 'A knight's favour,' he explained. Roderich just nodded. His throat was too thick and burning and he wanted to fall to his knees. Gilbert's hand lingered in his hair.

'My dearest Roderich.' Gilbert's smile was quiet and longing and happy. He stepped back. Roderich opened the muffled door and slipped out, but for a second they remained close, so close their breath misted in the air, with Roderich's foot holding the door open.

Then the door closed, and Roderich went back home and played _Edelweiss_ over and over and over as the time wound down again until he was outside, holding naught but memories and staring up at the wild white moon as he walked.

 **0o0o0o**

 **Nobody can change history.**

 ** _:: Feeling your own pulse_**


	15. Chapter 15

**This is a shorter story than most.**

 **0o0o0o**

Ludwig pulled the heavy cloak further down over his face and ducked his head as someone passed. Feliciano's hand tightened in his. The darkness might not be a good enough cover to hide who they were, but even if people saw he would not let go of Feliciano's hand.

'Stay close,' he whispered. 'People don't know us, and we should give them no reason to.'

'I know, I know, but-I can barely believe we are doing this.' Feliciano glanced up at him, all bright soft eyes and glowing happiness, and Ludwig's chest squeezed.

'You don't regret it?' he asked. Feliciano tugged his own cloak further up as they passed a shop.

'I am first and foremost an artist, Ludwig, and no matter how electric a city may be, I need to wander more.' His thumb brushed over the back of Ludwig's hand, and he felt the familiar shiver he didn't know could happen back when he didn't understand why lovers held hands. 'What will England be like?'

'Different,' he said honestly. 'If I am truthful, this all was more for my brother than myself.'

'I know.' Feliciano's warmth soaked through his chilled skin. 'I know you're thinking of my brother.'

'I...I am. I'm sorry.'

'Don't be. This was my choice. He understood that, at least.' Feliciano paused and Ludwig looked down at him. He was almost smiling, a wondering curve of his lips that made Ludwig feel all strange inside.

'We're free,' he said suddenly. He couldn't help smiling either, in the sudden heady rush of being alive and with him and away from the home they'd known forever.

'I know. Close your eyes,' Feliciano told him. He did, and a soft mouth fit against his for a moment before his eyes snapped open and Feliciano grinned broad and alive in all his brightness. His hand squeezed again and they started running, laughing, free.

0o0o0o

Gilbert was dizzy and exhausted and he could barely see straight and he was happier than he'd ever been. He pressed his palm into the cold wall of the first house and took a deep breath of late summer night air and moonlight and pale skin against dark brick, of freedom. He pulled away from the wall and stumbled towards the closest inn. It would be foolish to show his face to anyone, but he felt like being foolish. He felt invincible.

He tossed the money on the table. His skin tingled and he barely managed to conceal the excitement in his voice as the innkeeper looked up, and Gilbert pulled down his hood.

'One room, please.'

The innkeeper swept the money into a bag and handed him a key. Gilbert left for upstairs before he could follow. The room was spacious enough, and he sprawled out on the bed for a moment to work the worst ache out of his back. He listened as quiet footsteps creaked outside his door and tossed his bag onto the floor. He smiled.

Once the steps of the innkeeper had faded away, Gilbert slowly took his bag up and slipped out the window. He'd long memorized the map in his pocket, but he touched it again as he headed in the opposite direction for Mannheim. This small hamlet may not have much of a reputation, but it would speak enough. By tomorrow morning, everyone in his father's court would know he'd been here. Hopefully it would throw off his scent for long enough.

Gilbert paused by the stall of horses beside the inn. He dug out a handful of money and laid it on the top of the wall before unhooking the reins of a horse and leading it out of the town. He overpaid the innkeeper, anyways.

0o0o0o

Roderich had bought a horse and ridden for what had to have been hours by now. He was so tired he was delirious and his hands were rubbed raw from grasping the reins. Everything had tangled around his heart until he didn't know anything but his half-mad belief in his prince and their escape to this town, that pencil mark on a map of Leipzig. He hadn't seen signs of Gilbert at Mannheim or Küstrin and was now wishing they'd arranged something so he could stop being so terrified. There was nobody after them and there would be nobody for at least a few more hours, but his heart wouldn't stop pounding.

Thinking of what should have been was useless, because they weren't anything but themselves. Somehow, that made him feel better, but the fact still remained that he was at Leipzig and Gilbert was nowhere to be found. He had left first, there was no reason he shouldn't be here by now. This was not how he expected his arrival would be. Less fear, more exhilaration, more sharp grin and scarlet eyes and ' _Dearest Roderich, we made it_ '.

Roderich leaned against a cold wall and tried to calm down. Gilbert was...drinking, or finding a room, or writing poetic letters, and he'd show up with guilty eyes and self-conscious smile and tell about what he was doing, because Gilbert didn't plan. He did things as they occurred to him, and he swept everyone else up in his wildness and pulled them alongside.

Forty minutes later Roderich was sitting back against the wall. Nobody had so much as seen him, and nobody missed seeing Gilbert. He was just too electric and wild to be missed. He must have been caught.

It would be stupid to go back. He could practically hear Gilbert reprimanding him that he should keep going, that he'd be _fine_ -

Roderich swung onto his horse again and started riding.

0o0o0o

Gilbert felt the time eating away at itself. Every second, the sky grew lighter, the black giving way to blue, and his father's guards would be after them. His detour to the tiny village on the other side of the city had taken far longer than he'd expected, and now he was barely at Küstrin. Roderich would be worried about him. Gilbert gritted his teeth and kept going, barely noticing the figure at the end of the road until it glanced at him with startled and startling eyes, _Roderich's_ eyes-

Gilbert yanked on the reins and almost caught his foot in the stirrup jumping off. Roderich caught him and Gilbert lifted him up and twirled him, joyous, laughing relief flooding every inch of his body. He was here. He was safe. He was solid and real and warm and the sound of his voice saying _Gilbert, my prince_ filled the holes worry had eaten in his heart.

'I apologize for my lateness,' he said. Roderich gave him a look, but he was smiling too much to make his disapproval honest.

'I was worried about you.'

He'd known that, but it still made him feel tingling and warm to hear it. 'I was covering our escape.'

Roderich dropped the pretense of reservedness and smiled fully, and Gilbert's heart fluttered. 'How?' he asked.

'Showed my face and bought a room in an inn on the other side of the city. Come morning everyone from here to Saxony will know. Come now, I'm quite clever.'

'You weren't in Leipzig, is what you were.' Roderich pulled him into the lee of a building and put up both their hoods. 'I rode all the way back. It must be nearly seven.'

'Don't worry, we can sleep in Leipzig.' Gilbert took his hand and Roderich stilled. The familiarity of their skin brushing brought back memories, barely hours old, of words whispered and names cried out at finish-

Gilbert leaned forward and kissed him and Roderich pressed against him like a flower to the sun for the second they had away from the world. They were exhausted and filthy with travel and the king's soldiers would be after them and they were _free_. Gilbert's hand slid underneath the rough fabric of his cloak and smoothed over the black ribbon still holding his hair back. He pulled back bemusedly.

'Nobody after us?' he asked.

'Not yet. I like to think your knight's favour had something to do with it,' Roderich said.

'Not half of this was our own skill. The rest was pride and pomp and circumstance. Just as glorious war.' Gilbert kissed him again because what was another minute and a half talking of themselves in this strange new world? 'Roderich, do you understand what kind of wings we ride on? Fate and our belief in ourselves.'

'Not sturdy wings,' Roderich said half-seriously.

'Well, I think I believe enough to get us anywhere. Or to England, at the very least. England, you beautiful nation-is she ready for us?'

'I don't think any nation on Earth is ready for you,' Roderich teased.

'Least of all my own. At least not now.'

Roderich's smile dimmed. 'Do you miss your crown?'

'If I had one, I never wore it. Not really. And besides, a crown is nothing but a hat that lets in rain.' Gilbert stepped back into the street and leaned back to look at the sun streaking fire across the clouds. 'I suppose I'm not a prince anymore, and you're not a lieutenant.'

'We're fugitives,' Roderich said dryly, his mouth turning up into a secret, satisfied smile.

'Rogues! Would we live forever?' Gilbert threw out his arms and twirled until the entire lightening sky became a bright blur. He tripped over himself and ended up in Roderich's arms, glowing with happiness. His lieutenant looked down at him with amusement.

'Are you happy?'

'Oh, Roderich, I am ecstatic. I feel like a bird let free from its cage for the first time in its life. If every man has a wild beast inside him, mine just happens to be that!' Gilbert shut his eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to tame the giddy feeling sparkling through every fingertip. 'We really are free.'

'We are.'

They were both quiet for a moment as they watched the sky burn itself out and settle into pale blue. The fatigue of the last hours washed over him.

'Should we sleep here instead?' Gilbert asked, getting up. 'I am so tired I doubt I would last fifteen more minutes in the saddle.'

Roderich paid for the room. Gilbert busied himself putting their horses in the stable and snuck in through the upstairs window.

'The innkeeper didn't see you?'

'Not at all,' Gilbert assured him.

'Normally, I would think staying here would be too risky,' Roderich said, glancing towards the bed.

'Fatigue leads to fatal mistakes,' Gilbert lectured. 'One good thing my father taught me about troops. And besides, I do not think anything could be riskier than what we have already done, or what we plan to do next.'

They changed from their uniforms. Stripping off that last mark of who he used to be was almost its own form of release.

'You still have my jacket,' Roderich reminded him. 'Since we're not in Leipzig yet, I suppose I can't have it?'

'I'll give it back when we're safe. Whether that is Leipzig or England remains to be seen,' Gilbert said. Roderich hummed, and he was struck by how domestic they were, away from the prying eyes of court life. This is who they could be in England.

With a smile, he went back to putting his clothes away. He placed the map on their bedside table. Roderich was folding his jacket and a piece of paper fell from it.

'Your letter,' he explained, picking it up and unfolding it. Gilbert leaned against him and read over his messy, adoring scrawl.

'This postscript here may not be of the neatest writing, but it does say to burn this,' he teased.

'I couldn't resist. You write like an artist.' Roderich folded it back into his pocket. Gilbert chuckled and kissed him.

'You're kind.'

'You should write more than music as the Marquis,' Roderich told him. 'In England, you can become a writer. Or a flutist.'

'I might like that. You could be a musician, with your talent.'

'Of course.'

'Of course. How different we would be there. I...I think I would like to be an artist. I want people to know me as a creator like that. As a great man because of what he makes.'

'You'd have been great no matter which path you took,' Roderich said.

'Perhaps. It is all about the risk. Great things are achieved when we make such great risks!' Gilbert laughed and fell back onto the bed, but his smile faded. 'There is always a price to greatness, Roderich. I don't want my path to greatness to be paved in blood.'

'You told me, a long time ago, about innocent men's blood being spilled.' The letter crinkled in his hands. 'War…'

'Making war seems to be the fashion nowadays, and it does not seem it will go out of style anytime soon.' Gilbert tasted something sour. 'My sister will lead well. She won't let Prussia fail.'

'She was taught by the best the Soldier King had to offer,' Roderich reminded him, and he managed a smile.

Roderich sat beside him as he choked back words of apology to everyone he didn't know. How did he apologize to children of the future that war might take them away?

'Gilbert?'

'Tell me I'll be okay,' Gilbert begged. Roderich pulled him close and repeated the words against his hair until he could stop thinking. They lay quietly, each lost in their thoughts.

'Gilbert?'

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, and met Roderich's questions with a kiss.

0o0o0o

'He's gone.'

Francis nodded. Antonio frowned at his thin shirt and slipped off his own jacket. 'You're going to catch cold.'

'Good,' Francis said morosely. Antonio tried to laugh, but it came out flat.

'What are you doing out so early?'

'Watching the soldiers.'

They went silent as a group of soldiers with hushed voices and royal insignia passed.

'They're realizing he really is gone,' Antonio remarked.

'They won't find him. Our bird is clever.' There was a note of pride in Francis' voice.

'He promised he'd write.'

Francis' momentary lightheartedness disappeared. 'He must.'

'Do you think he'll be okay?' Antonio finally managed to wrap his jacket around Francis' shivering shoulders, and his friend gave him a grateful look as he also pulled the coffee cup from his slack, shaking fingers.

'He has to be.'

'I know, I know. How long have you been up?'

'Too long.'

'You both would have gotten yourself killed long ago without-'

'Without you making sure we eat and drink more than alcohol.' Francis offered a weak imitation of his usual smile and leaned against Antonio's side. 'Roderich will take care of him.'

'Roderich can't protect him from his father.'

'Neither could we.' Francis groaned and slumped against him. 'I...I miss him already. I want to tell him that I'm sorry.'

'I know. I know.'

0o0o0o

A soldier who stank of drinking brought the king the news in the morning. He listened and swept upstairs to check the bedroom. It was locked and empty. The king almost sent the soldiers out again to search when he heard that the prince had been seen in a tiny, unnamed hamlet and bought a room. He didn't want to send his soldiers to hunt him like some wild beast.

The soldiers were gone and the king was pacing by the piano, wondering about how to play again when someone brought him something they said was vital. It was a scrap of paper. The king took it and read six words, unmistakably the prince's writing.

He folded the parchment small and called his honour guard. They accompanied him to a house with a piano and drawn windows. Lieutenant Edelstein's house, the house of the man the prince had drawn in and confided in and now taken to run.

They set off to search.

0o0o0o

Gilbert woke up to shouting and pure panic flooded his veins. He scrabbled for his sword in the dark before it all came rushing back-they had run away, they were in Küstrin, they were in danger-

He grabbed Roderich's sword and pulled on the first thing he could find and opened the curtains. It was dusk. How long had they slept? Gilbert cursed himself for his foolish hope and doubly when he saw the men roaming the streets. His father had found them, and if he hadn't been so stupid they could have been gone. He'd killed them both. He'd sentenced Roderich to whatever punishment his father would inflict. His father had been right, he was too caught up in pretty music and heady experiences and now he'd lost the most beautiful man in the world. He hated himself.

He gently shook Roderich awake.

'It's just me,' he whispered, trying to keep his voice from cracking. He was so, so sorry. 'Listen. You have to get out of here. Get to England. Forget Leipzig, just get out of Prussia.'

'Gilbert? What's wrong?' He sounded kind, like he didn't understand. Gilbert shook his head, forgetting that in this darkness, he couldn't be seen.

'My father has found me.' Roderich was about to speak, to ask him whys and hows he couldn't answer, and so he kissed him instead and whispered all his apologies.

'My dearest Roderich. I am so, so sorry.'

'Never be sorry,' Roderich gasped when they broke apart. 'I regret nothing. I will stand by your side until the end.'

'Roderich.' He didn't have the words to express all he felt, and in that dark bedroom at the end of their worlds, Gilbert loved Roderich fiercely. 'My dearest Roderich.'

'Shh. We will make it.' Roderich kissed him slowly, and his body sang. 'Gilbert, I promise. You will be okay.'

'Je t'aime,' Gilbert whispered, and a sob broke in his throat.

'Je t'aime.' Roderich drew away gently, and his eyes gleamed soft in the dim light. Gilbert wanted to do something as Roderich packed their bags and dressed, but he just sat numbly and buried his face into his hands again.

'Ready?' Roderich asked him, passing over his bag. It barely held anything now-just food, and his flute and Gilbird's handkerchief. Memories.

'Ready,' Gilbert said, and gave him a chaste kiss before they slipped out the window.

They were caught in a narrow alley between two buildings, rogues killed halfway through life. Roderich fell to his knees as the king stepped forward. Gilbert lifted his chin and thought of every humiliation, every punishment, and thought _I hate that you have driven me to this. I hate that you will do this to the man I love_. He stared into his father's blue eyes, exactly like his brother's, and refused to bow.

'Gilbert Beilschmidt, did you intend to commit treason against the king and nation of Prussia?' he asked.

'I wouldn't dream of it,' he responded.

In response, his father pulled out a scrap of paper, the one he'd scrawled a frantic message on after his flute was broken.

 _Roderich, I leave for England tomorrow._

 **0o0o0o**

 **I'm still sorry to see this story end. I adore history in all its volatility, like some slumbering, ancient beast.**

 ** _:: Watching the stars for so long you see both sunset and sunrise and the constellations circling_**


	16. Chapter 16

**Somehow, history is not a solid thing.**

 **0o0o0o**

If he'd burned the letters, this wouldn't have happened. If he'd been braver or stronger or more decisive, they wouldn't be caught here in this filthy alley.

Gilbert fought like a rabid beast when the guards stepped forward and his father proclaimed him _treasonous_ , screaming and clawing, eyes wild, spitting _I won't let you take him, I won't let you do this, you can't, you can't do this_.

Roderich was numb up until the man grabbed his arm, and he kicked out once before the man tied his wrists and started carrying him towards the horses. Roderich stared in shock, watched his Gilbert fight off three, four soldiers before he was subdued. He'd been taken by one. When Gilbert was hoisted to his feet again, his teeth were bloody. He was wild as a hurricane and Roderich hurt, hurt, hurt. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry_.

'That letter is not mine,' he hissed, still struggling, but it was a weak protest. Gilbert was wielding a sword with the crest _Edelstein_ on the pommel and wearing a jacket too small for him. He looked like a disaster, a runaway, a rogue in love with another man. They were going to kill him, they were going to break him.

'Gilbert!' Roderich shrieked, and all his useless words came rushing back in tangles. 'Gilbert, Gilbert-'

What could he say to make this unforgivable thing better? Roderich laughed something bitter and dark. Maybe he could have something, if he sounded desperate enough, maybe he'd be believed.

'Gilbert, I'm sorry for making you do this,' he called, and their eyes locked and Gilbert's _horror_ shone bright. Roderich smiled at him and hoped he'd understand.

'Silence him,' someone commanded, and Gilbert screamed, something feral and bereft, a sound of agony. Roderich thought he heard a word underneath all the shouting of the soldiers and the fearfulness of the waking villagers, but a sharp pain burst in his temple before he could think any more, and he was gone.

0o0o0o

Gilbert stared at the remains of the ashes from burning letters on his skin and the patterned tiles of the palace he swore he'd never see again.

'I'll be king one day,' he said to his father. 'It doesn't matter what you do to me, the people need a king.'

'You weren't so sure about that when you tried to install your sister as queen,' Aldrich said. He sounded weary, and Gilbert wanted to say _Do you know what I did to escape? You can't be_ tired _until you've risked more than your life's worth for a fragment of a chance at hope_.

'Who are your allies?' Aldrich asked. 'Who is Lili allied with to take the throne?'

'Nobody.' Gilbert would hold up his hands if they weren't chained. He was too exhausted to figure out exactly how his father knew that, too. 'I was simply wanting to see my kingdom. Lili had no part in it, and I had no allies.'

'It's impressive how stubborn you can be.' Aldrich held out Roderich's sword, and Gilbert bit back a snarl of _get your hands off that_. 'Lieutenant Edelstein was your other half in this. Who is he allied with?'

He was more than Gilbert's other half in an escape. Gilbert shook his head. 'Nobody. I was seeing the kingdom, and I convinced him to come along on a whim. He is a friend, nothing more.'

'This is your handwriting.' Aldrich handed the sword away, and Gilbert watched it be carried off with another wrench in his chest. '' _Roderich, I leave for England tomorrow_.' This does not strike me as _friendly_.'

'Acquaintances, then.' Gilbert was tempted to spit out the blood in his mouth, but he didn't. He had to be diplomatic now, had to assume all the fault over his impenetrable shield of being the next king.

The memory flashed back. Roderich, eyes on him, saying those _words_ , those dangerous, deadly words. Gilbert wanted to shake him and kiss him and demand what he was thinking and to simply _see_ him. He'd been dragged away limp and it was more than difficult to keep a demure face when he wanted to demand _where did you put him_ and _if you hurt him I will_ -

What would he do? Anything he could. Even if he wasn't in love with Roderich, he was an innocent man. This mad plan had been entirely Gilbert's decision, and if they wanted to hurt him for doing it, they could do it the right way and send him back to the hunting lodge. Only cowards hurt others through the innocent.

'You were definitely more than acquainted. More even than friends.'

'More than brothers in arms?' Gilbert asked before he could help himself. Aldrich stared at him.

'Who were your allies? How did you intend to take the throne?'

He said nothing.

'Do you love Roderich?'

Gilbert met his sky blue eyes and smiled. Bitter rage curled up in his chest. Aldrich waited for ten long seconds, long enough for Gilbert to realize the piano was gone.

'My men have brought Edelstein in. Place him in the cells and interrogate him,' he directed, and a hot pulse of panic choked Gilbert's breathing off.

'No!' Gilbert begged, and the guards held him back. 'Don't hurt him, _don't hurt him!_ ' He lunged at the guards, but they hit him in the jaw with the flat of their swords and he reeled back. He couldn't let them hurt Roderich, he couldn't let him take the blame. It wasn't his _fault_.

Aldrich held up a hand and all stopped.

'I have gotten my answer.'

Gilbert went limp. The soldiers carried him bodily, and he barely moved his legs. Everything seemed faraway and silent, his thoughts senseless and strange and painful as they walked the cells.

A shout echoed from down the hallway.

'I've told you, I'm innocent, we both are!'

'Roderich!' Gilbert gasped, and the guards jerked him back. 'Roderich, I'm here!' he shouted, praying and hoping and exhilarant for a second because _Roderich was safe_.

'Gilbert!' His voice sounded strange, like his mouth was full of blood, but it was his voice-they hadn't killed him, they hadn't beaten him to senselessness, they weren't interrogating him for all the information about a coup that never happened. 'Gilbert, I'm here, I'm fine, are you?'

They rounded a corner and Gilbert looked down to Roderich half-pressed against the wall to try to get away from his guard. Blood ran across his face from the cut on his forehead he'd received in Küstrin, but he smiled like they were free again.

'Hello, Gilbert.'

'Hello, Roderich,' Gilbert responded, and the words felt like their own escape. For a second, they were themselves, filthy and bloody in the cells of the palace. His eyes were still vibrant as they were close, closer, hands twisting around rib cages and holding.

Gilbert's guards shoved him further down the hall and he stumbled. He turned and shouted, hoping desperately in that language of lovers.

'Mon frère est-il en sécurité? L'ont-ils fait?'

'Ils ne sont pas dans les cellules. Ils l'ont fait!' Roderich shouted back, and Gilbert felt himself smile for the first time since their night before his guard punched him in the jaw and he tasted copper.

'No talking.'

Gilbert met the guard's sharp brown eyes and spat out the blood in his mouth.

0o0o0o

Roderich brushed the last charcoal from his fingers as he waited for the throne room to discuss and knelt in front of the king to recite all his lies.

'I tried to coerce the prince into seeing the kingdom with me. We are friends. He followed me to stop me from leaving.'

'The prince says he convinced you to come instead.'

'He is egotistical.' Roderich pretended to be careless. 'The letter is from a traveling friend.'

'Who?'

'Feliciano,' Roderich lied. The king didn't seem to recognize the name.

'Why should I believe you?'

Because it was the only way to keep Gilbert safe. Because he needed to be believed by the person who could hurt Gilbert more than anything. But those weren't good reasons, and Roderich knew that simply being prince was not good enough to save Gilbert. The king would have another son. Roderich barely considered the implications before speaking, and the words felt like a benediction on his tongue.

'Because I planned it all,' he said, and pulled out the map Gilbert had scrawled on the back of his letter.

Roderich had been thinking since the moment they were captured, a disjointed swirl of plans and helplessness in his head that collected into half a fragment of a plan, all centered around needing that map. It was evidence Gilbert couldn't be caught with. Roderich had torn the other letter and hidden the scraps when he'd stopped for Gilbert in the hallway.

'It's of a letter in my writing,' he said. His hands shook as he unfolded it. If it had felt like painful betrayal slipping it from Gilbert's pocket, it felt like agony showing this map to the king. He had to. It had to work.

The king examined the map for a long moment. Finally he took it and Roderich's fingers tingled after the paper was gone. He tucked the letter into his pocket.

'Do you have anything else to say?'

'No,' Roderich whispered, and a weight lifted off his shoulders. Gilbert was safe.

0o0o0o

He was sent back to a cell after that and saw a glimpse of Gilbert, head bowed, being led to the throne room. He was still wearing Roderich's jacket. This time, he didn't call out or even look up with bright red clever eyes. Roderich watched him go and wondered if he had realized Roderich took the map yet.

Time seemed to unfold differently when he was waiting and listening and hoping that Gilbert was okay. He was gloriously clever and had a sharp tongue, but he had too much fire to properly negotiate with his father. He would say something impulsive and brash and wonderfully Gilbert, and Roderich would fall in love with him the hundredth time and worry about what Gilbert demanded and said. His words had to be enough.

0o0o0o

Gilbert had realized the map was gone as he was being led down to see the king again, and even though the panic demanded he start searching all his pockets at once, he took a deep breath and tried to think. Had one of the guards stolen it? No, they didn't know it existed. Without the map, Roderich and he were just young soldiers drunk on life and wanting to see the land, not criminals. The map was on the back of Roderich's letter as well, there would be no separation of Gilbert's crimes from his once that was discovered

It had to be in his pockets somewhere. He'd check, and call out French to Roderich, and they would be okay, they would be able to be close again, like that night, like-

Roderich, pressing against him in the hallway, holding him gently, taking the map and turning himself in.

'Roderich, you beautiful disaster,' he muttered, and a strange smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Roderich thought he could take all of the world alone for him, Roderich thought he was good even if he was a runaway ex-prince, Roderich thought all was going to be okay. Roderich was too brave for his own good.

He knelt in mock obeisance as his father told him Roderich had confessed their allies, and that he could avoid a harsher punishment if he confessed as well. Gilbert had no idea if Roderich had really lied about that or if it was just an interrogation technique. He remained silent.

'You do know what the punishment for treason is,' his father finally said.

'The emperor wouldn't want that,' Gilbert said flatly. 'You might not like how I would rule Prussia, but at least we'd have a ruler.'

'Of course we would.'

Gilbert looked up and a cold chill ran down his spine. He wasn't sure how he'd thought his little brother had the same eyes, because Ludwig was all vitality and strength. He saw nothing of that here.

'One who marries a queen?' he asked. It was a stupid thing to say.

'Yes.'

The guards jerked him upright. It would be humiliating to call out again.

As soon as they were out of sight, the guards started talking.

'He's one of those.'

'Embarrassing to have that in charge of the nation.'

'I'm not surprised.' The guard kneed him in the back and Gilbert coughed. 'Do you like screwing boys, Your Majesty?'

'Go to hell,' Gilbert said.

'He does.' A ripple of laughter. 'What about the prissy musician?'

'Don't talk about Roderich like that,' Gilbert snarled, and he shouldn't, shouldn't let his emotions get the better of him, but they couldn't say things like that about Roderich.

'Roderich.' God, it was a mangled sound in the guard's mouth. 'He seduced you into leaving, didn't he? Told you all the things he could do for you once you were in England?'

'Don't you dare,' Gilbert shouted, and his voice cracked. The guards jeered.

'Look at him, he's wearing Edelstein's jacket. Take it off.'

They tugged at his arms and Gilbert bit his tongue and told himself don't listen.

'The king won't care what happens to you unless we kill you, right?'

Gilbert's head jerked up. They were close, and his stomach turned. No. No.

'He won't mind it,' someone said, and reached to pull off his belt. Hot terrified disgust burst in his stomach.

Gilbert twisted in his chains and drove his knee into the stomach of the guard holding his arms.

0o0o0o

Roderich was pushed back into his cell. Time had passed strangely so far, half from shock and half from weariness, but now that he was alone, everything crashed into him. Gilbert was hurt and Roderich had to save him. He couldn't, he wasn't brave enough, wasn't strong enough, he would falter in the face of everything. The scrapes on his face stung, and Roderich dimly realized he was crying. Everything was too much.

The door clanged suddenly open and a heavy, dark mass was thrown in. It tumbled to a stop. Dust plumed into the air.

'Your Majesty,' the guard sneered. The door swung shut. The heap was completely still for a second until Gilbert coughed wetly and pushed himself up on an elbow.

'Oh my God.' It was an involuntary gasp. Roderich grabbed his face and tilted it towards the weak light. Gilbert's left eye was swollen shut already. His other watched, weary, sorry, gleaming.

'My dearest Roderich.' Gilbert's bloody mouth twitched into a half-smile. 'I'm a sight, aren't I?'

'The king didn't do this.'

'No, no, the guards did.' Gilbert cautiously touched his split lip.

'Don't touch it, you'll make it worse.' Roderich wiped his face off hurriedly. Gilbert grabbed his hand.

'Are you crying?'

'No.' He waved him away and tried to clean the blood off. 'Oh, Gilbert, how did you…?'

'It was worth it,' Gilbert said.

'You didn't-you fought the guards?'

'Roderich, they were saying things.' Gilbert's hands clenched on his. 'It just made me furious. And they...they tried to touch me.'

He didn't notice he'd been gripping his arm until Gilbert winced. Roderich let go and stepped back and tried to clear his mind of thoughts, of fears, of people who would hurt Gilbert that way.

'They didn't-you fought them off?' he asked, and even to him he sounded strained.

'They tried. They didn't do anything, I promise.' Gilbert made a small, broken noise, and Roderich realized how much everything must be weighing on him as well.

'Are you disgusted by me now?' Gilbert asked softly.

'Oh God, no. Never.' Roderich turned and gathered his battered body in his arms. Gilbert leaned into his chest and took a shuddering breath. 'Gilbert, I'm disgusted at the guards. Not you. This wasn't your fault.'

'It was, though.' Gilbert laughed, short and cracked. 'It all was.'

'No.' Roderich leaned down and kissed him, and Gilbert groaned. 'Gilbert, listen to me,' he said quickly. 'I...I stole the map and told the king I planned it all.'

Gilbert's hands tightened in his, but he didn't jerk away. 'I know,' he said, a hint of humour colouring his voice. 'You stole it in the hallway, didn't you? You're far too clever for your own good, dear.'

'He won't hurt you.'

'He can't. I'm Crown Prince.' They both took a moment to appreciate the irony of what drove them to run in the first place. 'But Roderich, you aren't.'

'I know.' Roderich kissed his forehead and tried to still his shaking hands. 'I know.'

'Roderich.'

'We're going to make it,' he promised, but he had no idea how.

Gilbert stared at him for a long moment before slumping against him again. 'I told the king we were just seeing the kingdom,' he said exhaustedly.

'I promise,' Roderich repeated, not knowing what he promised.

They sat together, hands twined, and watched the shadows creep across the wall. There would be no use planning an escape. If they couldn't make it before, how would they now, delusional from sleeplessness and Gilbert bloody already? Roderich sat and stared out the high, barred window and thought about what was coming.

'That bird seems so free,' was the only remark Gilbert made for what felt like hours, after someone walked by outside the garden with a yellow songbird on their hand.

'You know that it's just as trapped as us,' Roderich reminded him. 'It's wings are likely clipped.'

'So are mine,' Gilbert said humourlessly, and they went back to silence.

Slowly, slowly, the prince fell asleep on his shoulder, and Roderich hovered fingers over his delicate eyelashes and whispered 'Je t'aime'.

Someone unlocked the door. Roderich was too tired to move away from Gilbert.

'Edelstein?'

At least this guard was polite. He nodded and shook Gilbert's shoulder to wake him.

'Roderich? Where are we?'

'Prussia,' he said, and Gilbert nodded and pushed himself against the wall to sleep again, but his unswollen eye shimmered dull.

He was led to the king, who gestured the guards out of the room.

'Did you order them to hurt Gilbert?' Roderich asked. He was too tired to try to speak his way out of any traps now.

'I did not.'

'Truly?'

'Whatever my guards did was their own doing. I have ordered them not to hurt him further unless he attacks them again.'

'In those words?'

'Yes.'

Roderich studied the man on the throne. He looked tired, and Roderich didn't know how he felt. This man was the reason Gilbert asked him to stand guard when he played music. This man was trying his best.

'I convinced him to see his future kingdom,' he lied. 'He refused, and followed me to stop me. Once we left the city, I revealed to him that I intended to leave for England.'

'Did he try to stop you?'

'Why do you think he took my sword?' Roderich asked.

The king was quiet, and Roderich noticed he was staring at where the piano used to be.

'You accept full responsibility for this?'

'All,' Roderich promised, and imagined Gilbert's heartbeat against his, the feel of his mouth and skin, the adoring whisper of French in his voice, all that he would lose and regret and nothing more.

'You know the punishment for treason,' the king finally said. Roderich's stomach clenched, but he kept an even voice.

'Gilbert is the future king of Prussia, while I am not.'

The king finally met his eyes, and they were as shockingly blue as his son's.

'You know what I mean,' he said evenly. Roderich nodded. Somehow, it was easier to take. He had known the risks of loving Gilbert and taken them.

'Of course.'

'My son is fond of you.' Aldrich rose from the throne, and for the first time, Roderich saw his illness everyone said made him mad. 'I cannot waive the entire sentence and I do not wish to kill who I do not have to, but I can give you a reduced blow. Life in prison, as soon as this has all been finished.'

He knew it was coming, and this was even bearable. Roderich bowed his head.

'Your Majesty, if I could ask something of you. Do not kill Gilbert, as I accepted full responsibility for all that has happened.'

'You ask much.'

Roderich stayed kneeling, staring at the floor. His heart pulsed in his ears and at the back of his head.

'Prussia needs a king, by command of the emperor,' the king said, and all the terror rushed out of his body until he was limp. He'd done it. He'd saved his prince, and he would live, and perhaps find letters and piano music in the air in the coming months. He'd finally been brave enough.

'One more request. I would like to see Gilbert now. Alone,' he said. Relief made him exhilarating and careless and maybe braver.

As he was walked back into the cells, Roderich realized with a sinking feeling they weren't going back to their cramped cell, but something larger and harsher, deeper in the hallways. Gilbert had struck out again, but he didn't know how bad it was until the door was opened.

Gilbert lay stripped of all that was him on the floor. At his father's approach, he groaned and rolled onto his side. His eyes opened.

'Come to...gloat?' he croaked. Blood dribbled from his lips. 'Laugh at my...defeat?'

'Stop talking,' his father commanded. Gilbert's eyes widened and he started to laugh. It was a horribly sad sound, and blood dripped from his mouth in a staccato rhythm. 'Stop,' His father commanded. Inside of Roderich, there was a tearing pain. 'Stop, Gilbert.'

Gilbert's laughter faded, and he grinned at the king with teeth stained crimson. 'Concerned I'll kill myself before you make my little brother do it?' he asked. Not accusingly. Simply, as if stating a fact. Then his smile widened again. He shouted the next words. 'My little brother! The king's bastard son! His name is Ludwig, and he's the best guard and soldier you've ever met, and I'm damned proud of him! But he can't kill me, because I helped him escape!'

The king pointed and the guards left the room. No longer hidden, Roderich met Gilbert's eyes for the first time, and horror flashed over the prince's face that he barely managed to hide before the king left.

The second the door closed, Roderich dropped to his knees and cradled his bruised face. Gilbert let him touch the bend of his nose and the shadows under his eyes.

'Oh, Gilbert, what have they done to you-'

'My dearest Roderich, tell me they didn't hurt you-'

'I'm so sorry, oh my God.'

'Don't be sorry,' Gilbert whispered. 'You are unharmed?'

'Unharmed?' Roderich pressed a hand over his mouth to stop the choking sounds. 'Gilbert, you-!'

'Shh, I'm right here. The guards can't break me. We're going to be okay.' Gilbert smiled a true smile then. 'Kiss me?'

Roderich did. He tasted like copper and held him gently.

'You attacked them again?' he asked. Gilbert scoffed.

'I merely taunted them. If they are weak enough to think a few insinuations about their manhoods is assault, it's their problem.'

'Gilbert.'

'Shh, they won't kill me.' Gilbert raised a hand as if to smooth back his hair before realizing how dirty his hand was. Instead, he tugged the ragged black ribbon from his hair. 'My luck doesn't seem to carry far.'

'We will live,' Roderich promised him. It hurt to say that, but it was not a lie, and it would keep him safe. Roderich's fate had always been sealed, but Gilbert could still escape the same. Additionally, if he knew what was waiting, Roderich doubted he could stop the guards from killing him when he attacked them.

'Roderich, oh, Roderich.' Gilbert curled a hand across his face. His skin was cold. 'Do you think I'm going to die?'

Oh, what his sweet, brave, perfect prince didn't know. 'No,' Roderich rasped.

'Then why?'

'I do not want you to die,' Roderich said. There had been a sureness in his heart for weeks now that if Gilbert's red eyes went blank so would his, to all the beauty in the world forever more. He didn't know if he could explain it if he tried.

'Maybe your belief will get us further.'

'Gilbert-'

'I know.' Gilbert kissed him again, gently. 'Oh, Roderich, I'm so sorry.'

'Shush, Gilbert, you'll only hurt yourself.' There was a pain inside of him he could only describe as ripping, pieces of him being stripped away until his soul was bared to the world. When Roderich was near Gilbert, he felt sharp and vulnerable and wonderful, but he didn't know how he felt about the rest of the world seeing him like that. Gilbert hummed gently, but it was weak and he coughed, a horrible wet raw sound. Roderich's throat ached, and he pushed him onto his front. Gilbert spat out a bloody clot onto the floor and closed his eyes.

The movement revealed the side he was lying on, and Roderich reached out without thinking to wipe the blood from his thigh. Gilbert made a small noise like be careful.

It was a brand, he thought at first, a cruel burnt mark of claiming. But it was a tattoo instead, and as he wiped more blood away the shape becomes suddenly apparent to him and he had to repress the choking _no no no_ in his throat as he scrambled away.

Gilbert raised his head off the floor and met his eyes. His teeth were red as his eyes. He looked sad.

'This isn't how I imagined showing you, Roderich.'

'I know, I know.'

'You…' There were too many words to explain something as simple and as terrifying as Gilbert was, as he did.

'You can say it.'

'Gilbert, why did you tattoo your sword onto your left hip?'

Gilbert laid his head back on the floor.

'Why are you asking a question you already know the answer to, Roderich?' he asked softly

'How long ago?' He touched the mark and Gilbert pressed into his touch like a lost bird.

'Longer than you'd care about.' He groaned softly and laid his forehead against the cool stone. 'Much longer.'

'Do you regret it?'

Gilbert made a sound neither laugh nor sob, but something in between.

'Not at all,' he whispered. 'And that's the strangest thing, isn't it? That I don't regret being your brother in arms?'

'Very,' Roderich said softly. Gilbert gasped long and slow, breath rattling in his chest.

'I don't regret that sword,' he repeated. 'Whatever happens.'

'I know,' Roderich soothed. Gilbert pushed himself up onto his forearms and stared at him, more lucid than in days. Or more mad.

'No, you don't know.' He grabbed Roderich's hand, eyes wild. 'I...I know. I'm the only one who understands that I'm at fault.'

'Hush, Gilbert. You're going to hurt yourself,' Roderich said, pushing him down.

'It hurt,' he said. 'The tattoo.'

'I know,' Roderich said quietly. He touched his own hip and imagined a sword on his right.

Maybe the tattoo was a brand marking them as the cursed bond of brothers in arms because they could not be lovers here, or maybe Gilbert bound himself to someone not brave enough, or maybe that the sword was supposed to only be when they were alone. Whatever it was, the doctors had seen it, the soldiers had seen it, so many people had seen it, and Roderich felt like he'd expected a kind of intimate alone and felt not good enough again.

'I'm sorry.'

'My dearest Roderich, we're all sorry for things. It is only if we really regret things. I do not regret loving you. I never will.'

 **0o0o0o**

 **History is always being rediscovered.**

 ** _:: Early evening, where the sky changes slower and time stretches_**


	17. Chapter 17

**I cannot change history.**

 **0o0o0o**

Gilbert was staring out the window when they called him away.

It had been a full day since they were captured, and Gilbert was looking out towards the direction of England and wondering. Roderich was asleep. Without the grace of wakefulness, the thinness of his face was startling. He was tired. They all were.

'Sleep well,' he murmured. The guards beckoned him to hurry.

Aldrich was coldly furious with him. In some ways, it was no different than being sixteen and found out about music and Scottish pages again, except this time, his life rested on the line-or, more importantly, Roderich's. But his brother was safe, he'd made it, he would live, and right now, Gilbert took solace in that as he knelt and refused to lower his eyes underneath his father's stare.

'It's late,' he said. The moonlight showed off his albinism, and he silently reveled in being _different_ than his father wanted.

'It was better to wait until your lieutenant was asleep.' Aldrich dismissed the guards with a wave. 'Gilbert, tell me. What did you think would happen when you tried to escape?'

 _That I'd be a musician, an artist, that I'd be free_. 'That I would see the kingdom,' he said instead. 'Roderich told you-'

'What Edelstein says is irrelevant. What do you say?' He leaned forward. There were more lines around his eyes than Gilbert remembered. 'Did you understand what would happen when you failed?'

'We weren't trying to run away.'

'Edelstein showed me the map.'

Gilbert stayed silent. Aldrich sat back.

'Did you understand then, Gilbert, or will you understand now, when your punishment will be executed according to the crime of treason?'

'Executed?' Gilbert asked, and the word was only a dull pang burrowing against the sharpness of failure. The real pain would come later, after he was able to hide his face in his hands and cry.

'Treason against the kingdom carries the punishment of death.'

'Roderich did nothing wrong,' Gilbert begged.

'What has he told you?' Aldrich asked.

'Nothing,' Gilbert said truthfully.

'I gave him a life sentence in prison. You are fond of him, and he is not of consequence enough to kill.' Aldrich looked away. His face was shadowed. 'I do not like to kill innocent men.'

'You'd kill your own son, though,' Gilbert spat. He had said those words himself, so very long ago. 'Or am I not innocent? What is my sin, my artistry or the fact that I-'

He nearly stumbled on the words and cursed himself for nearly saying _I love Roderich_. It would help neither of them at this point.

'-am albino?'

'Neither.' Aldrich's face was stony. 'It is that you committed treason.'

'It's more than that to you.' Gilbert laughed as he staggered to his feet. 'It's because I wasn't the son you were looking for, and so you made yourself a bastard son who is everything I'm not.'

'Ludwig?' Aldrich asked quietly. Gilbert's heart hurt, but he covered it with a feral smile.

'Oh, you heard me yesterday? Remembered his name?'

'Of course,' Aldrich said fiercely. Gilbert fleetingly wondered if he was being too harsh, but dismissed the thought. He was going to be executed. If he was going to speak his mind for once in his goddamn repressed life, now was the time.

'I'm just surprised, since I was the one who practically _raised_ him,' he said flippantly. 'He was the best little brother I could have asked for. He'd die for Prussia. I think we both would have liked it better if he was the firstborn, wouldn't we?'

Aldrich turned away. Gilbert bowed exaggeratedly and waited for his guards to drag him back to his cell.

0o0o0o

Roderich was awake and leaning against the wall, staring out the window when he got back. The guards left without taunts. They hadn't even kicked him around on the trip back. Gilbert wondered if they'd heard his death sentence.

'What happened?' Roderich gasped, pulling him close and running fingers over his face.

'The king wanted to know what we were doing again,' he said. 'I told him the truth. Looking at the kingdom. He threatened me with treason charges, of course.'

Roderich rested his head against Gilbert's chest and took a shuddering breath. 'Did...did he tell you?'

'He told me you're getting life sentence,' Gilbert whispered-if it was true, if Roderich was really safe-

'It's true,' Roderich murmured back, and all the pent-up tension rushed out of his body. 'You didn't believe me?'

'I thought you might be trying to-to reassure me,' Gilbert said. The irony did not escape him. 'Oh, my dearest Roderich, you're safe.'

'I know.' Roderich smiled, his teeth white in the darkness. 'You arent imprisoned, either.'

 _Executed_. Gilbert laughed and cracked all over the inside and told himself it was to keep Roderich safe. For now. For now, he didn't know, his beautiful musician didn't know and it would keep him _safe_. 'Of course I'm not. Prussia needs a king, and when I become such, I will happen to discover that any evidence of your treason has been mysteriously destroyed and conclude that you must be innocent. I think I'll apologize to you by inviting you to my rooms after hours and showing you how deeply _sorry_ I am.'

'Gilbert,' Roderich said fondly, and Gilbert kissed him before he could speak again. In the press of their mouths he wondered how many more times he would be able to feel this soaring warmth before he was killed.

They broke apart and Roderich was a bit breathless.

'You're...you're going to have the people revolt if you try things like that.'

'All worth it,' Gilbert said mischievously. When they were bright and happy like this, he could almost forget where they were and why. Roderich shook his head in disbelief and his hands wrapped around Gilbert's back, pressing against his hip, against his inked art. They stilled.

'Gilbert. Your...does it hurt?'

'It hurt when it was stenciled in,' Gilbert admitted. 'Not anymore. You can...touch if you want.'

It was a silent agreement in the flicker of their eyes together, and the nervous energy between them shifted to heavy and hot and wanting.

'They can't-see, can they?'

'No, move over here.' Gilbert moved them away from the door into a niche and tugged off his belt. 'Are we going to…?'

'I don't know. I just want to touch you,' Roderich said. He flushed red. 'I can't believe I…'

'Shh,' Gilbert said, and pulled away his tunic to show the unbloodied sword. It was simple, Toris hadn't been able to get in all the details in the two nights, but it was enough.

'Why?' Roderich asked again. His fingertips ghosted over the black ink, interrupting the smooth lines. It looked like a piano under his hands. Everything looked more beautiful with him, even the weapon of Gilbert and his sword.

'You know why,' Gilbert said again, and Roderich smiled faintly, still running fingers along the length. 'The more you know about me, the more you realize that I don't want to be who my father wishes.'

'You shouldn't define yourself like that.' Roderich pauses long enough to look at him. 'Even when I didn't know you, I didn't think of your father. Now, the more I know about you, the more I realize how wonderfully brave you are.'

'High praise,' Gilbert said, averting his eyes. Roderich hummed something soft and proud-the piano of _Edelweiss_ -and gently pushed him further against the wall. Gilbert didn't realize what was happening until Roderich kissed him and he groaned into it.

'They can't see us?'

'Not a thing,' Gilbert promised. Roderich nodded and unbuttoned his coat and kissed down his chest, and Gilbert bit his tongue to stop from asking for more. His body was electrified and every heartbeat thudded through his palms where they met Roderich's skin. Everything was hot breaths and hot skin sliding against itself and French he could barely understand past instinct as they pressed themselves closer together.

'Roderich,' he gasped, and then swore things in French he didn't even know he remembered how to say, and pulled on Roderich's hair. Roderich groaned low and kissed his sword and Gilbert threw back his head and his body shuddered. It was all too much and not enough, and the words of his father crashed in his head, but not now. Not now.

'Je t'aime, je t'aime,' he said, and Roderich said it back, over and over until it blurred into one sound of nothing but their hearts in unison, and that would be enough.

0o0o0o

Gilbert woke up in the morning and for a second, everything was soft and bright and beautiful with Roderich curled next to him, close, skin tacky with sweat from the night before. For a second, they were nothing and everything before the world came back, with the prison and Prussia and his death sentence. He'd have to tell him. He'd only be hurt more if he found out while watching him at the gallows.

Gilbert watched the unhurried rise and fall of his chest for a heartbeat before he gently shook him awake.

'Gilbert?' Roderich asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Gilbert felt bad for waking him, but the guilt would consume him. Maybe this was all a bad dream, he wished fervently. It wasn't.

'My dearest Roderich.' He smoothed his hair back. 'Yesterday, I told you how I wasn't imprisoned, did I not?'

'Gilbert,' Roderich warned, and Gilbert choked back tears-I'm so, so sorry-and kissed him gently. Roderich's mouth softened under his.

'I'm not.'

'Don't say it,' Roderich demanded. His voice cracked into pleading. 'Don't say it, Gilbert. You can't. You can't.'

'I'm being executed,' he murmured, and Roderich's voice broke into a single, helpless sob.

Gilbert cradled his crying body in his arms and told him sorry, dearest, I'm so sorry over and over. It terrified him past reason to have Roderich cry. He couldn't cry. It wasn't right.

'He promised me,' Roderich spat, choked still. 'He promised he wouldn't.'

'Don't make deals with kings,' Gilbert advised sadly. 'And...and don't fall in love with princes.'

'I can't help falling for you,' Roderich told him. 'Perhaps make a new rule, about princes not to flirt with lieutenants.'

'Nothing could have stopped us,' Gilbert said, and Roderich made another soft, broken noise and curled further into his embrace, and Gilbert rested his chin on his head and closed his eyes and dreamed.

0o0o0o

Roderich knew he had been lethargic for days. The news he'd expected but denied was threatening to crush him. He knew it was going to happen, but it couldn't. A world without Gilbert didn't make sense.

Gilbert still touched him on the arm and told him to eat and whispered to him in French, and all Roderich could think of was how many more touches and gentle French words would he hear before Gilbert was-

Gilbert was huddled in the corner. Roderich didn't even have the energy to go to him. He didn't have the energy to feel sad, or broken, or angry. He was exhausted and drained and empty. If the king had intended to break their spirits instead of their bodies, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

Gilbert was called out to meet the king several times. Roderich didn't even have the energy to say goodbye when it happened. Gilbert kissed him on the forehead whenever he left and said _Adieu_. The first night, he'd added _be of good cheer_ before his eyes went dull and he turned and left.

Roderich felt useless. He could do something, he could argue his point about Gilbert seeing the country in the trial they were now in. But he wasn't brave enough.

'The trial is over,' Gilbert told him one day. He talked to fill the silence every evening, settling beside him. Roderich was sharply aware of the inches between them, inches which would not have been there before. Before, they were different. They had a thousand befores.

Gilbert always waited for him to speak. He never did. Not anymore.

'I'm being condemned,' he said. 'Charged on two counts of treason. One for leaving Prussia for England, and one for…'jeopardizing the royal line'.' He half-laughed. He looked so exhausted. Roderich hurt all over. 'They mean loving you,' he said quietly. 'I don't regret loving you. Please remember that.'

He wanted to say something that would make Gilbert laugh and erase the dark circles beneath his eyes, but his words stuck on his tongue. He closed his eyes when Gilbert looked back towards him and pretended to sleep. His prince stayed beside him for a long few seconds before kissing his forehead and whispering 'Bonne nuit.'

That night, the king summoned him. Roderich was about to wake Gilbert when the guard shook his head. Roderich nodded and kissed Gilbert's temple and said je t'aime, and the words felt rough in his unused throat.

He knelt. The king told him about the trial. He told him what had been revealed after the prince stormed from the room. He told him what the true verdict was, and for the first time in days, Roderich felt alive again.

'Truly?' he rasped. The king looked surprised at his speech.

'Truly.'

It was a bitter scrap of hope, but it was something. It was something. It was something for the execution tomorrow.

When he was locked back into his cell, he shook Gilbert awake. He blinked blearily before his eyes focused and astonishment flashed across his face.

'Roderich? You're-I was worried, I thought you'd given up-'

'Not anymore,' Roderich said. Every word was an effort with his throat rough from disuse, but the stretch and burn felt good. It felt like doing something. He cupped Gilbert's face in his hands and tried to memorize every line of his face. 'Gilbert, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, can you ever forgive me?'

'I already have. Oh, dearest, don't worry. It's all going to be okay. I promise.'

'I promise,' Roderich repeated. His throat was thick with tears. He'd spent days withdrawn instead of telling Gilbert things he needed to know, like how much he loved him. He had but hours before the sunrise. 'I love you. I love you,' he gasped.

'I love you too. Shh, shh. Come here. We knew the risks.'

'There should be a new law,' Roderich rasped. 'Don't fall in love with artists.'

'I think that's always been a law among men,' Gilbert whispered into his neck. 'We just chose to ignore it.'

'I love you,' Roderich said again. A rough sob broke in his throat. 'I love you, Gilbert.'

'I love you too, Roderich. What did the king tell you?'

'The results of the trial.' Roderich held up a hand before Gilbert could speak again. 'No. Not right now. Please. I want you.'

'I want you like I have wanted no other,' Gilbert echoed, and quietly outside the the window, the church rang the bells to mark the hour as the Great Bear clawed into the sky. They huddled in their corner and Gilbert laid his cloak down and undressed him. Roderich's blood was singing and his skin was too tight and hot and everywhere Gilbert touched was so suddenly, painfully alive.

'I don't have-' Gilbert cut himself off and spat into his hand. 'You truly want to?'

'Please.' Roderich leaned up and kissed him. Gilbert's body arched into his and then a moment after he felt the rough sting of stretching.

'Roderich, my dearest Roderich. I love you, my beautiful, brave musician.' Gilbert kissed his closed eyelids and Roderich pressed a hand into his final wound, his heart. His broken, healed, too-kind heart.

'You are the _kindest_ ,' Roderich gasped out. Gilbert bent over him further and worked him open. 'Kindest person I've ever met.'

'Shh, shh.' Gilbert kissed his chest. Roderich was alight, alive, free. 'Roderich, can I-'

'Yes,' Roderich insisted. Everything was fast and slow and slick, everything was close, with Gilbert arched over him, soft and kind and beautiful.

Gilbert slowly pressed in and they both gasped.

'Mon cher, je suis tellement désolé, je t'aime, je t'aime,' Gilbert whispered, desperate. His hands shook and brushed over his skin, gentle, soft, kind. 'My dearest Roderich, oh my _God_.'

'Gilbert,' Roderich said, over and over. It felt good, it felt like closeness and togetherness and the smell of pine and warmth, soaking up through his body. Everything was blurry silvered hair and desperate, sad, loving red eyes, and Roderich thought _I love you, I love you_ and sobbed out Gilbert's name when he released. Gilbert whispered something in his ear as he stilled inside of him, something Roderich almost remembered as he fell asleep.

0o0o0o

Gilbert didn't want to look out the window. He had woken up cold and alone his last morning in a different place than the cell he'd spent his last days in. They'd barely roused him when it was still dark this morning and brought him here, to a soft apartment with birds outside the window to think before he was killed. He'd left Roderich on his own in the cold cell. Everything hurt.

He didn't look out the window because if he looked outside to the birds, he could see the stands for the execution. He didn't want to see them. He'd looked outside only once when they'd brought him in struggling, and that was enough.

His words hadn't been enough to save him, but they'd spared Roderich, and that was enough. His short life had to be enough. His small declarations of love had to be enough for what he wanted to tell Roderich in the years to come. It all had to be enough, and none of it was.

He sat on the bed and tried to remember exactly how Roderich had moved under him, all lithe grace and muscles tensing and relaxing and his gasps, and the way his head had fallen back.

'Prince Gilbert,' one of the guards began, and Gilbert ignored him. He twisted the black ribbon from Gilbird's handkerchief, first given to Roderich, now tied around his wrist. It was his poor luck to stumble into a musician with that certain kind of laugh and want for the world, because he fell in love at first sight and there was no stopping that.

He wanted to break down and cry, but he couldn't. He would not let his father's soldiers see him like that, but he wanted to cry about not saying goodbye, not being able to wake Roderich one last time, kiss him farewell, and say Adieu! Be of good cheer.

Gilbert huddled into himself and told himself it didn't matter. It was barely twenty minutes until noon, twenty more minutes of cold, alone birdsong, and then nothing.

'Prince Gilbert,' the guard insisted again. Gilbert snarled in anger and swept his hand at them.

'Leave.'

'We cannot.'

Gilbert was about to shout when someone outside shouted, and his body reacted before his mind did, because it was French, that terrified-but-brave and defiant shout, and it was-

-no, no, it couldn't be. He'd been promised. He'd been promised. It couldn't be because if it was than every bright thing in the world would be gone. It couldn't be because Gilbert knew lies, he'd been fed so many of them-you can stop thinking about men that way, you can change, you will lead Prussia well-and when he'd been promised _it's true_ it was not a lie. It was not a lie it could not be a lie-

-the shout was Roderich, his beautiful musician, and they'd both been lied to.

Gilbert finally looked out the window. There was a brightness among the grey, his perfect Roderich, being led towards his death. They'd been lied to. Roderich had believed he was going to survive.

Oh God, his dearest Roderich. Dead. Dead. Dead.

' _Delay the execution!_ ' he screamed.

0o0o0o

Gilbert was gone when he woke up. His body was heavy.

'It's time, sir,' someone said. Roderich managed a laugh.

'You're mistaking me for the prince, I think.'

'No.' The man moved forwards. He carried himself strangely. It might have been the messily shorn brown hair framing his face, or the cooking pan hanging off his side, but there was something distinctly delicate about him still. 'I'm sorry.'

'What for?' Roderich eased himself off the floor. 'I received the news yesterday. I've made my peace.'

'I've refused the order twice.'

Roderich paused. 'Is...is this an unpopular decision?'

'To me, it is. I know the prince.' He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 'We were friends a long time ago. I am a soldier, not an executioner. I am just here to escort you.'

'Thank you,' Roderich said honestly, touching his arm. The soldier moved away.

'Did you love the prince?'

'Yes.' Saying so felt good. Roderich wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

'You do not regret this?'

Roderich smiled and thought of everything, of moonlight and pine and kisses under constellations. Gilbert, his beautiful wild Gilbert, who loved and who he loved fiercely and smiled like he was made of war. He missed him. 'I die for a prince whom I love, and I have the consolation to give him, by my death, the strongest proof of attachment that can be required.' He gazed at the soldier, who was silent. Respect glinted in his eyes. 'I do not regret the world,' he finished.

Roderich drank in the sunlight when they walked into the streets, the fearless blue of the sky, the hugeness of the world. Gilbert's absence was a sharp pain.

'I'm sorry,' the soldier whispered a final time, and stood silently as the executioner prepared him. Roderich ignored the king and scanned the crowd for any hint of pale and scarlet, hoping against hope for Gilbert and finding nothing in the crush of bodies. The roar made his head dizzy. He needed a glance, a final look, a goodbye. He looked towards the sun. His vision swam.

'Mon cher, ce n'est pas la fin, mais pour l'instant, adieu!' he shouted, hoping against hope his foolhardy prince had found his way here and that then he would go before it happened.

The window of the apartment across the way crashed open, and his foolish Gilbert met his eyes, wild and alive and trapped. Roderich watched in paralyzed horror as the guards pulled him back into the house, watched how he fought again like an animal, screaming something, something desperate, something in response to his final adieu. They had more in common than anyone thought, because what Gilbert had screamed in the alley and whispered at night was the same-ce n'est pas la fin, this is not the end, of our battles, of our stories, and Roderich loved him so much it hurt.

0o0o0o

The king was staring at him. Gilbert didn't care. Roderich was standing on the platform, and Gilbert held his gaze.

'I am ready to renounce my right to the crown if His Majesty will pardon Roderich!' he shouted.

All was silent save for the birds and his heart in his throat. Far below, his lieutenant shook his head sadly, desperately, and mouthed a word. Je t'aime.

Gilbert couldn't breathe. Everything rested here, on the tipping point between senseless worlds. There was a keening coming from him, rising up his throat and catching in his lungs. Roderich couldn't die. If he died, the world would tip out of balance. This couldn't happen to them.

'Veuillez pardonner, mon cher Roderich, au nom de Dieu, _pardonne-moi!_ ' Gilbert screamed, begged, pleaded.

Roderich being pulled roughly towards the axe.

No.

The way he fought, the way he twisted in the chains to meet his eyes one final time.

No.

Gilbert shattered when Roderich gave him a smile, a soft, sad, sorry, _satisfied_ smile that said _if only things were different, dearest._

No. No. No.

Even the birds stopped singing when Roderich responded, and his voice was the most beautiful thing Gilbert had ever heard until he heard the words inside it.

'If I had a thousand lives, I would sacrifice them all for you. There is nothing to forgive, I die for you with joy in my heart!'

For a moment-because that's all it is, a moment-Gilbert saw the axe fall-

(-Someone is screaming, high, unbroken. He does not fall fast enough not to see the golden birds take flight around the blade-)

Gilbert Beilschmidt, crown prince of Prussia, fainted away on the floor.

 **0o0o0o**

 **I do not write the endings of fairy tales.**

 ** _:: Old music in secondhand stores, tinny and muffled_**


	18. Epilogue

**They are their own happy endings.**

 **0o0o0o**

In the darkness, the light spilled out between his fingers like the sun, illuminating the strange blue and purple shade of his eyes. He smiled, exhausted exhilaration in every line of his unscarred body, and fit their mouths together, and Gilbert was warm, and safe, and so, so happy.

'Oh, my beautiful, brave Gilbert,' Roderich whispered, resting their foreheads together. His eyes were adoring. 'You are going to be okay.'

'My dearest Roderich,' Gilbert gasped, wrapping hands around him, feeling every inch of his warm, solid body where it bent into his. Roderich kissed him again.

'Gilbert, you are going to be okay,' he repeated. 'Please, dearest, promise me that.'

'Anything for you.'

Roderich smiled, relief soaking the tension from his shoulders, and bent down to meet him.

Gilbert woke up cold and alone and with a scream working halfway out of his throat. Alone. Alone. Alone because Roderich had been dragged to the chains and the axe and looked him in the eyes and said those final words, gave him _everything_ and _god Gilbert kept dreaming of him_.

The scream wrenched itself from his throat, and Gilbert shoved his hand over his mouth to muffle the keening, bereft sound but it was all too much and nothing, the giant, gaping pain inside of him saying over and over and over that his Roderich was-

Gilbert curled over in the darkness and sobbed, and there was no kind musician's hands to hold him. This was his fault. This was all his fault.

0o0o0o

Gilbert was dying.

Lili watched as the physicians checked her brother's pulse and reactions as he lay asleep underneath the sheets. Perhaps more than asleep. Lili watched, and hurt, and knew that the cause they were looking for on him could only be found when he was awake.

Gilbert was heartbroken. Roderich's execution had shocked and shattered him. He lay silent and drawn on the table, brows furrowed in dream or hallucination. Everyone in the castle heard his screams when he woke up before the dawn.

Her brother gasped suddenly and sat up on the table, eyes wild and unseeing, before the physicians rushed forward and he stared at them for an uncomprehending second before he bent over and cried.

Lili couldn't stand it any longer. She stepped forward and touched Gilbert's shoulder. He flinched and shoved himself away.

'Roderich,' he gasped. He always, always started like this.

'No. Just me.'

'Who are you?' he demanded.

'Your sister.'

Slowly, his eyes focused. His face was bone-thin and stretched tight. He hadn't eaten.

'Lili,' he said slowly, and the final barrier in Lili's heart broke. He was still half trapped in his dream.

'You need to take this,' she said instead of answering, and pressed medicine into his hand. Gilbert stared at it blankly until he appeared to recognize it and pushed it away.

'No.'

'Gilbert.' Her voice broke. 'Please. You've been like this for three days. You are going to die.'

A flicker in his eyes. The physicians stayed back. Lili reached out and almost touched his face, but retreated at the last second.

Gilbert turned away. Lili was about to speak again when he threw his head back and forced the medicine down his throat. One of the physicians reached out with a cry, and Lili held back her own caution. Gilbert coughed, eyes watering, and nodded once.

Lili nodded back.

Another flicker, this time stronger, before Gilbert laid back down to sleep.

0o0o0o

When Gilbert woke up, everything was blurry in his head. For a second, a single second, he hoped it had all been a nightmare.

But he still had the bruises and the cuts and the memories, the memories. They threatened to overwhelm him.

(It was his fault, it was his fault Roderich was-)

Gilbert was alive because Prussia needed a king. Because Roderich had paid the price for both of them. Gilbert hated himself.

The hours passed, or perhaps it was days. He couldn't tell, but slowly, if he bothered to notice when it was brighter, Gilbert began to realize he was back in his rooms. He didn't know if he'd always been there. He was too tired to wonder. He felt empty of tears and hope and light.

 _Roderich_.

He huddled in his blankets and stared out the window. The door could have been unlocked and he wouldn't have known. Moving seemed impossible.

Roderich had been like this after he'd been told Gilbert would die. His eyes went empty and blank and he wouldn't move or eat or speak, and Gilbert felt even lonelier than if Roderich was in a different cell, and so scared. He was about to crack when Roderich roused, shaking him awake with his eyes desperately bright, whispering apologies and more. Gilbert hadn't thought about what had broken the spell because before he knew what was happening Roderich was underneath him, open and gasping and undone, and then he'd been dragged out to the apartment and the only thing he could think forever after that was the way he'd said the words-bravely, gently, telling him it would all be okay. His eyes were adoring and calm.

The realization hit him and doubled him over to dry heave. The acid burned his throat.

Roderich knew. He had known before it happened what the real verdict was, the one they must have given after he'd stormed out. He'd known and made his peace, he'd known and because of that the lethargy let go of him. He must have known it was their last chance, and Gilbert remembered the sound of his voice in his ear, repeating je t'aime.

Gilbert had to believe Roderich was going to tell him. He wouldn't leave him blind. Not unless his sense of duty convinced him it would be for the best.

He needed to talk to his father.

The world was tipping sideways. Gilbert lurched out of bed and nearly collapsed. Black spots crowded into his vision. Everything was spinning, everything rested on him finding the answers in a reasonless world. He grabbed the closest thing to support himself and staggered towards the door. It was unlocked.

It was a short-lived victory. Every step felt like agony and made him dizzier, and by the time he was halfway down the hallway, he couldn't go on. Gilbert finally sunk to his knees and the makeshift walking stick, which he only now realized was his sword, clattered against the floor. His cheek cracked against cool, smooth stone, and his teeth sliced his mouth open until he tasted blood.

'Your Highness,' a guard crooned from behind him. Gilbert couldn't say anything.

'Are you ready to admit your crimes in front of the king and accept your duty?' the other asked. Gilbert rolled onto his side and saw a face he recognized. He spit out the blood in his mouth again, and the guard's face tightened.

'Put him back and lock the door,' he directed, stalking away. Gilbert laughed even as the guards put him back in his useless, empty, quiet room and the key scraped in the lock, and then he pulled the pillow over his face and cried tears he thought he had no more of.

0o0o0o

The days passed meaninglessly. Gilbert was trapped inside his room. The guards who gave him food did not speak. He needed sound, he needed music, but the simple sonatas he penned on the back of paper scraps did not fill that void.

He took to writing instead. At first, every passage began with Dearest Roderich, but the name hurt and so he blotted it out and began again.

Dear diary,

If I look outside the window long enough, I fear I will almost expect to see Roderich standing there with that satisfied smile he does, convincing me of other things. I don't look out the window anymore.

He nearly tore that first entry up. It seemed inadequate to spill his jumbled thoughts onto the paper and expect it to hold all the pain in his heart. The words never came out how he truly felt them. The only place he'd said everything he truly meant was in clandestine meetings underneath the pine tree. This bedroom was too draped in layers and layers of secrecy, and yet sitting at the desk he had planned their escape, he wrote again and again.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and will a dull pang, realized he was still wearing Roderich's jacket. It matched his eyes, and Gilbert felt like right then, he could truly drown in the colour.

'I promised you I would give this back when we were safe,' he said to the empty place against his side. He almost waited for hope of an answer from a soft voice.

Nothing, and somehow that hurt as well. He felt disgusted with himself. He'd hoped against hope, and the last time he did that-

The guilt burned along his skin. He'd hoped for impossible, expected it, even. And besides, the jacket would be returned when they were safe, and they were anything but.

Gilbert tried to think of something else. Not everyone had expected him to wake up. He knew that because he remembered Lili in the blur, but all Gilbert really knew was that Roderich was-

(The swing of the axe, the gasp from the crowd, and then the silence)

Gone. Not here. He would not say the other word.

'Gilbert?'

His heart jumped, for a second he could almost imagine it was his lieutenant. Then the dream faded and he was a broken shell of a prince clutching a quill.

'Come in,' he said.

Lili watched him pace.

'I wanted to ask if you remembered the three days after.' She drew herself up, but all Gilbert could hear was three days.

'How long have I been here?' he asked urgently.

'Five days.'

Five days. He had been lethargic and comatose for five days. What had his father done since then? What had happened after it all?

He turned and grabbed Lili's shoulders.

'Did I miss the funeral?' he asked desperately. 'Roderich's.' The name felt strange now.

'Gilbert.' Lili pulled away and wiped at her eyes. Her voice caught. 'He didn't have one.'

'Where is he buried?' Gilbert persisted, hoping that this, at least, could be salvaged.

Lili told him.

Gilbert turned and grabbed his cloak.

'Where are you going?' Lili asked sadly. Gilbert didn't bother to answer. 'You can't leave.'

'You can't stop me,' Gilbert hissed. Lili shook her head and pointed towards the door where the soldiers stood. Gilbert turned to face them, icy anger settling in his bones as the soldiers glanced at the beginnings of diaries piled on his desk.

'Who have you been writing to?'

Gilbert said nothing.

'We need you to write a letter to the king confirming you will not attempt treason again.'

'He wants things from me and I give them, is that not how it works?' Gilbert bared his teeth. These soldiers seemed like the physical representation of what had killed the man he loved, and he loathed them. 'He wants a letter promising I'll be the perfect son?'

'Write it,' the soldiers advised coldly, and shut the door. Gilbert sunk into a chair. How would he face his father?

'I am going to go,' Lili said cautiously. Gilbert couldn't find the energy to move. She silently opened the door and stopped. 'Gilbert, is that Roderich's jacket?'

'Yes.'

He didn't look to see what his sister thought. After a second, the door closed again.

0o0o0o

The king knew how to break him. Physical labour failed to work after the hunting lodge. Isolation reduced him to panic.

With nobody to distract him, his thought kept turning back to everything he could have done to prevent what had happened, and the more the letter to his father tugged at him. He had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to fight for. If he just gave in, he could stop hearing his own thoughts. He could see Roderich's grave.

That is what broke him, his chance to say a final adieu. Gilbert started writing the horrible letter and the pen shook in his hands. He barely finished the first paragraph before the words tainted him, chased him to desperation. The next day, another few words of his surrender, and it felt like he wrote it in Roderich's blood. He'd died for the chance at freedom in England, and then Gilbert threw that away, because he was weak.

Roderich's last words kept repeating, over and over. Gilbert screamed, and broke things, and wanted it all to stop, but he kept waking up breathless right before the axe fell. Roderich, his Roderich was-

(Soft hands under the pine tree, music and the weary shine of pride in his eyes. The tension in his muscles when he held a gun to guard, and the way everything else between them fell away when they talked of secrets, of futures, in French, their language of all they could not be)

-dead.

Gilbert wrote the rest of his diaries in French, and filled them with apologies, and declarations of love, and promises. It was not enough _it was never going to be enough._

0o0o0o

Gilbert knelt and held out the hateful surrender and thought:

 _Do you know Ludwig loves a private called Feliciano Vargas and I helped them escape?_

 _Do you know who I will become?_

 _Do you know how deeply I loved Roderich?_

Gilbert closed his eyes as his father recited the terms. He'd fill the palace with pianos once he was king. He would play his flute without caring who heard and he would hurt, every day for the rest of his life, because of a lieutenant named Roderich Edelstein, but he did not regret loving him. He did not, did not regret the world. Not for a thousand lives.

'...and you will be sent to Küstrin,' Aldrich finished. Gilbert forced himself not to react, not to scream and shout and demand that Aldrich know how deeply Gilbert loved the man he'd killed. He wanted the world to know.

Küstrin. That faraway town, sent there until he was deemed cleansed. Everything was too much to process, his only thought that he needed to visit Roderich's grave.

'When do we leave?'

'Tomorrow.'

0o0o0o

Gilbert was running through the streets and every breath felt like glass and he could barely see. What his people must think of him, their failed prince. He didn't care.

When he saw the gravestone he collapsed to his knees, the pain caught right behind his chest finally, finally pouring out of him in sobs. He sunk his fingers into the grass and the grief hunched him over as he screamed.

 _Dearest Roderich, I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you, my beautiful musician_.

He didn't know how long it was until the sobs stopped and he simply sat. He took the pine seed out of his pocket and pushed it into the ground. One day, the tree would grow, and so would he.

'Adieu,' he said, and pressed hands above the soil, thinking, dreaming, remembering. Oh, his musician was right. He would be okay, one day, one day, and the pain did not let him go but loosened its grip, and that would be enough.

He pulled his flute from the pocket with shaking hands and lifted it to his mouth. He'd repaired it himself, all those days alone. He thought of everything they were, and played Edelweiss one final time, played it until the stars shuddered with the beauty, played it as all the things he wanted to say, like _Roderich Edelstein, will you marry me?_

And in that moment, where there was the Great Bear above him and some different life ahead, Gilbert finished the last chord and in the song of the stars back to him, thought he could imagine a _yes_.

He tipped his head up to the constellations and felt a small satisfied smile, and the tears choking his throat, and all the words he never said, and promised never to forget him. 'My dearest Roderich.'

 **0o0o0o**

 **The story of Frederick William II of Prussia, better known as Frederick the Great, and Hans Hermann von Katte** **is a tragedy, surely, but one of the most romantic ones.**

 **They first met in their advanced math and science classes in 1729 while Frederick was the Crown Prince and befriended each other quickly. They forged a deep bond over Frederick's flute music and their common tongue of French, and it likely developed into a bond of a romantic nature. Katte was consistently horrified by how the Soldier King treated his young son, but it was Frederick who proposed a plan to leave for England in the spring of 1730. Katte originally discouraged him from doing so, partially because of Frederick's sister Wilhelmine's disapproval over the lieutenant's influence over her brother, but the two ended up plotting an escape together, along with Keith, their mutual friend.**

 **On August 5th, 1730, the pair left. They were apprehended in Küstrin and charged with desertion and treason by Frederick's father, and Katte was beheaded. Frederick was forced to watch, but fainted before the axe fell. Upon waking, he fell into a heavy depression that threatened his life for three days. Upon finally rousing upon pleading from Wilhelmine, he never spoke of Katte again.**

 ** _:: Old clothes behind glass in museums_**


End file.
